And The World Spins Madly On
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: A few weeks after visiting Kurt in New York and confessing to cheating, Blaine is attacked and left for dead. Burt finds him on his way home from work and calls Kurt to let him know. / Now a multi-chapter fic, by popular demand!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I apologise for the Blangst/Klangst. Please, do try to forgive me.**

* * *

_"Hey there, pretty boy, where do you think you're going?"_

Blaine exhaled sharply, his lungs piercing with each staccato breath. He wasn't aware of how long he'd been on the ground—and when had the sun gone down? His heart thumped wildly against his fragile ribs, gracing him with the image of it bursting right through his brittle chest. He told himself he needed to get up, to find help, but some pretentious part of his brain insisted on staying down and resting; the rest of it tried to work out what had happened. Blurred faces attached themselves to giants with baseball bats; his body ached all over as he relived each hateful blow.

_"I—I don't want any trouble—"_

_"Shut up, faggot."_

He flinched at the memory of the first contact—metal bat to the back of his knee—and his entire body tingled dauntingly. It was no use; none of his limbs were cooperating. Something far more pressing disturbed him though—he could actually _feel_ all of the blood leaving his body, trickling out from untraceable orifices, and suddenly he realised his jeans were halfway down and he was soaked and sticky. He clenched his eyes shut, his stomach lurching viciously as he recalled the other use his attackers had found for the baseball bat. When everything ached all over it was difficult to pinpoint the exact locations of real damage; he narrowed it down to "everywhere" and wished, more than anything, he could at least cover himself up before someone found him.

_If _someone found him.

The idea of being left all alone, no saviour, elicited a gasping sob from deep within his raw vocal chords. No one was going to find him; he was going to lay in this muddy field until he bled out or dehydrated himself after several hours of straight crying. The faint glow of headlights caught his attention, the pale yellow making him feel dizzy and drunk, but he couldn't bring himself to cry out.

_Help. Please help. Please see me._

He considered his chances and the outlook seemed grim; it was dark and he was laying on the ground. Unless someone was actually looking for him, there was no possibility he'd be discovered accidentally by passing cars. But the headlights grew closer still and for one terrifying moment Blaine was unable to tell if the ground beneath him was actually soft earth or if his attackers had left him in the middle of the street. The screeching of tires cut through the typical silence of the Ohio night, but he couldn't make out the car through the bright glow of the headlights. Rushed footsteps approached him, each thudding stride leaving him a little more disoriented as it sent shockwaves through his aching head.

"Hey, are you alright?" Blaine's heart seized up at the strangely familiar tone of voice. _Do I know you? Have we met? _"Kid, can you hear m—Blaine...?" Burt Hummel knelt down beside the boy that—despite knowing for at least a year by now—he could barely recognise through the bruises, blood, and dwindling will to survive.

At the mention of his name, Blaine sobbed in reply, a gut wrenchingly desperate, terrified broken sound that he'd grown accustomed to making—in solitude—in the weeks since his and Kurt's break-up. Whoever it was that was there beside him knew who he was. With trembling persistence, he tried to move his hands to his jeans to pull them up.

"No, no, no, don't move. Here, I've got it. It's okay, you'll be okay," Burt hurriedly—and carefully—worked Blaine's jeans up his slender waist. "Can you move? Is it okay if I move you?" He repositioned his hands from Blaine's jeans to his torso, then to his shoulders as though he was unable to decide the best way to go about helping him up. Blaine mouthed a silent reply and swallowed back another sob. As Burt slowly began to sit him up, Blaine couldn't hold back his scream, pure agony tearing right through him. Burt hugged Blaine close to his chest and whispered apologies that didn't belong to him.

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I've got you, it's going to be okay," Burt sat still with him for a moment, allowing Blaine a break before standing up, cradling the small boy in his arms. Blaine gritted his teeth, embarrassed by the painful noises he couldn't contain; even with the absence of physical pain he'd been so unable to maintain his composure lately. "Hang in there, buddy."

Blaine didn't want to listen anymore. With each careful stride Burt took back to the car Blaine clenched his teeth a little more, until the pain was so overwhelming it practically blinded him. By the time Burt had placed him in the backseat of his truck, consciousness had already slipped away from Blaine.

* * *

The last time Burt had been in the waiting room of a hospital Kurt had just turned eight. They'd been out to dinner as a family for the first time in months when Elizabeth Hummel excused herself from the table and collapsed on the way to the bathroom. Though Burt was alone now, and though it was many years later, he could still imagine Kurt beside him, his legs dangling off of the chair as he silently took in his surroundings.

Burt sat there now in his own silent debate; he knew that Kurt and Blaine had broken up, though Kurt still kept the reason a secret, but he couldn't picture his son just erasing Blaine from his life completely. He wanted to protect Kurt from more heartache, but Blaine had become like family... surely Kurt deserved to know what happened and Blaine deserved the all of the support he could get. Burt twirled his phone between his hands, chewing on his lip and trying to think of a reason not to call Kurt. He failed and put the phone to his ear.

"Dad, you know you don't have to call me to tell me 'goodnight' every night, right?" Kurt's voice resounded in his head, tired and stressed.

"It's not that, I need to talk to you about something," Burt knew that he would have to speak quickly if he wanted to get his point across without any of Kurt's usual interruptions.

"I'm fine, if that's what it is you want to talk about."

"No, but it is about Blaine—" he could actually feel Kurt tense up through the receiver at the mention of the name.

"I don't want to talk about Blaine, dad."

"Just... hear me out—"

"It's sweet that you're trying to 'fix us,' dad, but—"

"Kurt, stop it. Just stop it and listen to me," Burt spoke through his teeth, not really angry with Kurt, worry and impatience dripping off of his tongue. At Kurt's prolonged silence—a grand total of three seconds—he continued. "I found him while I was leaving the shop—"

"He was waiting for you outside of work?" Kurt blurted out, a touch of anger hanging onto his words.

"Kurt!"

"Fine, I'm sorry—wait... found? What do you mean you found him?"

"Somebody—he's—Kurt, he's in a really bad way right now. Someone beat the living hell out of the poor kid," there was silence followed by a clatter; Burt guessed Kurt must have dropped his phone. He waited a few seconds until he heard his son's voice again.

"W-what? He—oh god. Oh my god. How bad?" Kurt's voice traveled between registers, wobbly and high pitched.

"Kurt," Burt tried to redirect, softly.

"Dad, how bad?" Kurt sniffled loudly.

"He was unconscious when I found him." _He wouldn't stop crying and begging for help. I could barely recognise him._

"He's not—I mean, he's okay, isn't he?" Burt lowered his head into his hand, covering his eyes. "Isn't he?" Kurt demanded.

"I don't know," Burt replied truthfully. "Look, I know that you boys have got your own... issues between each other right now, but I think he really needs us, Kurt. As friends, as family—whatever."

"I—no, yeah. Of course. I'm already looking up flights right now."

* * *

_"Someone beat the living hell out of the poor kid."_

The words echoed through Kurt's head on the duration of the flight, heavy and loud just far too _real._ Blaine, _his_ Blaine—no, that wasn't quite right. Blaine wasn't _his_ anymore. Blaine wasn't anyone's, and neither was Kurt. But the news still burned just the same. Sure, he felt angry, upset, betrayed—but he never wished harm on Blaine. While he agreed with his father, that Blaine would need them, it did nothing to untie the anxious knot in his stomach that only seemed to contort itself even further the more he tried to will it away. He hadn't seen Blaine for weeks, had tried to push away all thoughts of him and busy himself with work and Rachel and Brody and Chase and his second audition at NYADA and—

_How is it going to feel to see him again?_

He couldn't let himself think of Blaine in the messy terms of "boyfriend" or "ex-boyfriend." Not now. Not anymore. Right now, he needed to remember "my friend Blaine."

_My friend Blaine, who's in the hospital after getting the shit kicked out of him. Again. _

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard at the memory of Blaine's pre-prom confession. Kurt knew that Blaine still had issues to sort through with the first attack, he was terrified to think of how a second one was going to effect him now. Especially in the midst of their break-up.

_Which was his fault. Don't feel sorry for him, don't let yourself get trapped like this. _

This was all too much for his fragile, confused heart to take.

He spotted Finn waiting for him at the terminal, expression serious and melancholy, and made his way over. They didn't exchange a word as they embraced each other, Kurt uncertain of what to say, Finn unwilling to upset Kurt further. Within the hour, they were at the hospital and Kurt was swept away in his father's arms before he had time to blink. They stood there for a few minutes, just drinking in each other's presence, before Burt pulled away and cleared his throat. "How was the flight?"

"Dad," Kurt's eyes softened to match his tone. "I can handle it, go ahead. You don't have to distract me."

Burt nodded once and took a seat where he proceeded to remove his baseball cap and twist it into knots in his hands. Kurt cringed as he watched his father work permanent crinkles into the material. "They uh—they said there's haemorrhaging in his brain."

Kurt took a step back as all of the air evacuated his lungs. He understood the situation was serious when Burt had told him about it, but he was still childish enough to overlook _this_ type of serious.

"I don't—I don't understand," Kurt stammered and stared at his father. "I don't understand, what does that mean?" He looked between Burt and Finn, who both looked back at him with such great sadness in their eyes it was as though they'd already given up hope.

"It means... it means that he might not wake up, Kurt. They're trying to get swelling in his brain to go down, but..."

"Maybe I should make some calls?" Finn suggested in quiet resignation. "Get whoever I can to come down here to visit?"

"He's going to be fine," Kurt spun around to face him and snarled in response. "I can't believe you two, you're just so willing to say goodbye to him?"

And just like that, their entire relationship rushed past his eyes in a short, hazy summary:

_I'm never saying goodbye to you._

_My missing puzzle piece. _

_Don't give up hope, ever. _

_This is a song I sang the first time I ever met the love of my life._

_I was with someone. _

_It was just a hook up. _

_I didn't care about him. _

_Kurt. _

_Kurt, please. _

_Kurt, I need to talk to you._

_I told you, I'm never saying goodbye to you. _

"Kurt, I'm just trying to—" Finn unknowingly cut through the whirlwind currently existing within Kurt.

"Finn," Burt shook his head.

"This isn't happening," Kurt blurted out, anger quickly deflating. "This isn't happening."

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Burt pulled Kurt into his arms. Kurt sank into the embrace, glistening eyes transfixed on a muddy footprint on the floor. Finn quietly slipped away and within the next two hours familiar faces began trickling in to offer their sincerest condolences. Kurt tuned out every one of them; the scene transported him back to his mother's funeral, he couldn't think about Blaine like that, not yet, not ever.

"I need a minute," he announced through the thick fog of growing numbness. Nobody questioned him as he stood up and walked outside. He shivered as a gust of wind blew through him and recoiled as an image of Blaine, freezing and begging for help, filled his head. Ex-boyfriend or not, he knew he couldn't stomach losing Blaine.

* * *

Three days crept by and more and more friends appeared whenever Kurt, Burt, Finn and Carole had visited. Rachel had flown in the day after Kurt, leaving his side only to stop off at home to pick up a change of clothes. Puck had burst in with Sam shortly after Rachel arrived, nearly hysterical. The rest was just a blur from then on for Kurt. Santana couldn't even bring herself to respond with her usual snark, which—to be honest—Kurt would have appreciated more than anything. Nothing felt _normal_ anymore.

The hospital had finally allowed them into Blaine's room and Kurt sat, fists clenched, beside a bed that was much too big for Blaine. In the three days that passed, Kurt had seen every member of New Directions and a handful of the Warblers... but Blaine's parents still had yet to make an appearance. Kurt was able to get in touch with Cooper earlier in the morning at least, who assured Kurt that he was well on his way and would be there as soon as possible. But even the hospital couldn't seem to get in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. The more Kurt thought about it, the more his emotions shifted back and forth from anger to sorrow—he felt like a pendulum in motion, unable to control where it was he should settle. Even after knowing Blaine for over a year, the Andersons still felt like ghosts. He'd met them once in the infant days of his and Blaine's friendship, but they were rarely ever home.

"Still haven't come in?" Burt strode into the room with a takeout container. Kurt narrowed his eyes at the styrofoam in disgust, despite having no idea what was actually inside. "Relax, it's a salad. Figured you couldn't really stomach anything else right now."

"No, they haven't come in," Kurt's features relaxed, his scowl dissolving into apathy. "Thanks, I'll pick at it in a bit, probably."

Burt nodded over at Blaine, his face questioning and hopeful, but Kurt shook his head sadly in response. The doctors had cut away part or Blaine's skull to help the swelling in his brain to shrink, and it pained Kurt to see him so helpless and on display. Blaine hadn't moved a muscle since they'd been permitted to see him, adding more panic to Kurt's already flustered state. He could hardly remember what his cell phone did, much less remind himself to use it to keep Isabelle updated back in New York like she'd made him promise. Even amongst his and Blaine's shared friends in the room, he barely said a word to any of them. And they all watched him with apprehensive eyes, all unwilling to be the first to try to start a conversation that they knew would never last. They all left him to his miserable thoughts, except for Rachel who tried to engage him whenever she visited, but even she realised it was pointless after a few apathetic nods and blank stares from Kurt in response.

Another day snuck past him, a swirling vortex of whispered medical jargon and concerned pats on the shoulder, and Kurt was just about ready to scream at all of them.

_"We're doing what we can." There's more you can do. There has to be something more. _

_"Kurt, maybe you should eat something." You're thinking about food at a time like this?_

_"Go home, take a nap. We'll watch him and let you know if anything changes." Fall into nightmares and possibly miss however short a time he might wake up for? No, thank you. _

It continued like that for more than half of his fifth day there. Eventually, more and more people had trickled out of the room until only Kurt and Blaine were left. Kurt had thought to try something different today. And so he sat with a collection of letters he had intended to give to Blaine when they first became friends, full of both silly and serious topics, some with confessions that had been too heavy for his tongue to hold the weight of so he channeled them through ink instead.

"_I haven't been able to stop thinking about our conversation the other day_," Kurt rattled off in a wavering voice, eyes flitting back and forth between Blaine and the paper in his hand with such speed that it began to make the room spin. "_I feel like I've been screaming out for someone to notice that everything's all wrong, and there you were. I don't think you even know what it meant to me, to sit across from someone with no judgment in their heart, willing to listen to a complete stranger. As cliché as it is to say, I think I fell in love with you that day. I remember the exact moment too. You told me to be brave, not because it was easier said than done, but because you didn't want me to have the same regrets you had for running away. We had just met and already you cared only for my own peace of mind. You didn't need to listen to me, but you did._"

He paused, shuffling through the crinkled pages of loose leaf paper, and cast a few hopeful glances at Blaine, who was still merely organic decor for the room. Kurt scanned through the first few sentences of the next letter before settling on a line and started to read, his voice still shaky. "I_s this real? I've had very little luck in my life when it comes to making friends, but with you it's just... easy. With you, I don't feel left out anymore. Whenever I'm completely over the moon about something, you stop and listen like it's the most important thing in your life. I notice that. I notice you too, even when you try to hide yourself away._"

Kurt sifted through a few more pages, plucking out random lines and casting them into the air as if making some sort of verbal collage of secrets and affection.

"_Could you ever go for someone like me?_"

"_I wonder what it'd be like to kiss you._"

"_I've never been this scared before in my life—I just want to tell you everything. Courage, you told me. Have courage. I feel like a hypocrite for only applying it to scattered moments of my life._"

"_How can you be so wonderful and so frustrating all at once?_"

"_I must be out of my mind. What other explanation is there? Is it all in my head?_"

"_Kissing you was everything I thought it would be._"

"_It's so hard being away from you like this._"

"_I don't want to say goodbye to you. I won't say goodbye to you._"

"_You transferred schools for me? I'm terrified this will end in resentment._"

"_I didn't think it was possible to feel this much love for another human being. Not exclusively in a romantic sense. Even if this ends someday, I hope we're still best friends. Right up until the very end._"

He had to stop when he read the last passage, his voice suddenly too tight, his eyes too watery to even distinguish one word from another. Best friends. That's what they were. That's what he'd always hoped they'd be. Through love, through hatred—he hadn't imagined anything that could force them apart. They'd woven a part of themselves so deeply into the other that it seemed impossible. And he felt that connection still. Despite his anger, he still wanted to run to Blaine at the first signs of hardship and complete elation, wanted to share _everything_ with him.

"You just—you have to wake up, okay?" Kurt brought his palms up to his eyes, pressing down until he saw spots. "Please, Blaine. I don't hate you, I've never hated you. Wake up so we can talk about what happened, I'll listen to everything you have to say."

He was just about ready to start bargaining with a force he didn't believe in when the door swung open and his father appeared with Cooper. Kurt didn't say a word to them as he stood up abruptly and all but raced out of the room to clean up his face. The back of his neck prickled as he felt their eyes bear into him, but he didn't dare turn around. The next ten minutes passed by in a blur as he splashed his face with cold water until all the warmth, rawness, and sadness had gone leaving only frozen apathy.

* * *

By the time the sixth day had rolled around, Burt had filled Cooper in on what had happened with Blaine. Kurt sat silently beside them, chewing on the insides of his cheeks, and couldn't help the feeling that his father wasn't telling them everything. Kurt noticed the distance in his father eyes as he parroted the same summarization for Cooper that he'd given Kurt the first night of the attack. It was that same expression that kept Kurt from asking more questions—he didn't _want_ to know all of the brutal details if they could reduce his strong father to a smoldering pile of terrified ashes.

Like the previous day, Kurt had decided to try something different again today. Though he was sharing the room with Cooper and Burt today, it did nothing to hinder any of his boldness. Nobody was here to pass judgment anyways, he reminded himself as he scraped his chair closer to Blaine's bed and scooped his ex-boyfriend's hand into his own. An eery silence engulfed the room in the moments before Kurt decided to serenade Blaine, his soft warbling providing the perfect mask for his tumultuous mind. Cooper and Burt wouldn't understand the significance of the song and Kurt took comfort in that; even in a room full of friends and family, Kurt and Blaine could still cling to their secrets in plain sight.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise..."_

Kurt hid his face away at the end of the last line, squeezing Blaine's hand tighter as another onslaught of tears fought too strongly against him and won. Every other presence that was and could have been in the room dissolved. For Kurt, there was only the two of them. Friend, lover, ex-boyfriend—none of the words mattered, he wasn't sure they would _ever_ matter again. But as another sob clawed its way up his esophagus, as his lungs ached and overworked themselves, as he was beginning to cut the last remaining thread tethering his hope to ground level, the smallest of sounds invaded his ears and lead the cavalry straight to his heart where the words planted a familiar flag right beside the old tattered one he wouldn't have been able to ever forget about, even though—as of late—he'd been trying to.

"Oh there you are..."

Kurt's head snapped up, his neck cricking loudly, as his thumping—claimed, no matter who he was trying to kid that it wasn't—heart leapt up into his throat. He swallowed thickly, eyes trained on Blaine's lips for fear he had imagined the words. But he hadn't.

"I've been looking for you forever," Blaine continued in a just-barely-there whisper, cracking his eyes open with some effort. Once they were open though, they were immediately on Kurt who stared back with tears rushing down his face. Burt had run off to fetch a doctor and Cooper crowded around on the other side of the bed, but still Kurt and Blaine focused only on each other.

There would be time to sort out the messy details of their "relationship," Kurt thought. For now, he was content with sharing this moment of relief, this _miracle_—though he gave credit to no one in particular for it—under very simple terms with the boy laying before him. They had been lost and found their way to each other once, through all the possibilities and hardships, and they would continue to do it again and again. Whether it was as strangers with the same dependency for companionship, as friends who had connected through shared submergence into darkness, or as lovers who lit the candle together and lead each other into the light—Kurt knew they would figure it out. With time and with patience, they would figure it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: By popular demand... I've decided to continue this. Enjoy it and please let me know what you think!**

* * *

The first uncertain moments were the hardest. Kurt and Blaine remained frozen, eyes locked, and silent as the world continued on like always. Kurt wasn't sure how long they had stayed that way; it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but time stretched on and on and on until Cooper broke the silence with a teary, "Blaine, god, I'm so glad you're okay."

_Okay._

Kurt thought of the word and all that it stood for and considered how rude it would be to scoff when Cooper was clearly in the middle of such a genuine wave of emotion.

_He's the farthest thing from okay._

Blaine eyes were the only part of him to move as he looked between Kurt and Cooper with alarmed hesitation. Kurt could tell what that expression meant, though he wasn't sure exactly how to put it into words. And when Blaine tried to speak, both Cooper and Kurt rushed a, "Shhh, not now, later," into the unspoken conversation, hoping it would actually deter him from continuing. Burt returned with a doctor before Blaine could try to speak again and in a matter of seconds Kurt found himself on the other side of the door with Cooper and his father. He stared at the egress with dazed scorn as the doctor sealed him off from Blaine.

_I should be in there right now. We all should be in there right now. _

The sudden appearance of a hand on his shoulder roused Kurt from the intimidation tactics he'd been trying to apply to the door, and very soon afterwards he discovered himself being pulled—ever so gently—away, back into the waiting room. Sam sat there with Puck, grease stained wrappers in hand as they took breaks from their serious whispers to manage a nibble or two. The sight and smell of their food combined with the fact that his stomach had been clenched in unyielding knots for days was enough to make Kurt want to rush into the nearest bathroom and empty whatever foul, festering anxiety had refused to unhinge its claws from the lining of his belly. But he swallowed down the urge—thickly, with great effort—and chose to sit down a good three seats away from them. Cooper was immediately at his side and Kurt could tell he wanted to ask questions, wanted to talk and comment on what had just happened in the room, based on the way he fidgeted with his hands, interlacing his fingers and grinding his knuckles together. Kurt still wasn't sure he'd properly be able to attach actual spoken words to his thoughts. So when Cooper squirmed in his seat for the fourth time in the last minute and opened his mouth, Kurt stood up and walked away, feigning interest in a community bulletin board across the room.

He was surrounded by nothing but support, and all he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. _Needed_ to, actually, because everyone's opinions, all of their input, would simply add more to his confusion. Blaine was awake—Kurt hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd promised Blaine, in his unconscious state, that they would talk if he woke up, that he would lend Blaine his ears and undivided attention if only he would just wake up. And Kurt Hummel was a man of his word. All he had to do was figure out the right time for a conversation like that to happen. Blaine was fragile now, and Kurt's emotions were strewn and stretched too far apart on the spectrum to actually allow him to rationally sit through anything involving their relationship. That could wait, that _would_ wait. For now, Blaine's recovery was all that would have to take precedence.

* * *

They'd been forced to wait two hours before the same doctor that Burt had brought back to Blaine's room strode over to their ever-growing group. All of New Directions and most of the Warblers had joined Kurt, Burt, Cooper and Carole in the waiting room. Some of them had broken off into smaller groups, casting worried glances over at Kurt when they assumed he hadn't been looking, and spoke in whispers that Kurt wanted to inform them weren't as quiet as they seemed to believe. But at the appearance of a white coat and stethoscope, everyone fell silent.

The doctor approached Cooper, asking if he could step aside for a moment. Cooper turned to Kurt, who had taken to chewing on his nails in order to occupy his lips from quivering, and nodded in the direction of the doctor. Kurt stood up wordlessly and approached them while Cooper turned to Burt and Carole, "You too, come on." They briefly exchanged a look, as if bracing each other for whatever news may lie ahead, and walked over to Cooper, Kurt and the doctor. Doctor Sayers, as Kurt noticed on her nametag, started talking as they continued on towards Blaine's room.

"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions, and I'll try my best to explain everything clearly," she began, a practiced smile in place and Kurt immediately had trouble deciding if he was going to like her or not.

"What sort of lasting damage will there be?" Carole asked in a quiet voice. She had her arm hooked through Burt's and walked closely to him, their steps evenly matched.

_Rachel used to comment on that, about me and Blaine._

Kurt left half of his attention to watching their strides, so perfectly in sync given their height difference, while Doctor Sayers took a deep breath and stopped walking. Kurt almost interrupted her, was about to demand to know why they were stopping, until he looked up and realized they had already reached Blaine's room. He peeked in through a small window on the door and a chill raced fervently down his spine, reminding him of the plummeting slope of a certain boasted roller coaster that added fame to their home state, as he took in Blaine's frail form.

"We're not exactly sure. With brain injuries, it's... tricky. We can't really know the full extent of the damage right away, and even with some time there are things than can go wrong. We're already looking at another surgery now that the swelling has finally started to go down, but we need to run some further tests to assess the neurological damage that might have been done, then there's physical therapy—it's going to be a long road of recovery for him."

Kurt felt like he'd been submerged underwater by the time she stopped talking. Everything was muffled and sluggish and the same childish denial sprang forth, repeatedly knocking against his brain as though the mantra would somehow become true if he said it enough.

_This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This. Isn't. Happening. _

"Kurt?" Cooper's voice managed to wade through the fog surrounding Kurt's brain. "You look like you're going to faint—"

"M'fine," Kurt rushed out a reply and looked into Blaine's room again. "I'm going to go sit with him while you all talk."

He didn't wait for affirmation of his actions, didn't wait to see if he was even allowed back in, as he pushed the door open, slipping in quietly. As the door swung closed behind him, Kurt couldn't help but notice the transition from one world into the other. Just outside the room was his life, with friends and family and New York, but on this side of the door there was only the fragile remnants of a boy who still had his calloused hands gripped tightly around Kurt's heart. He took a seat beside the bed and Blaine's eyes fluttered open immediately. He turned to Kurt, the confusion etched clearly on his face, and Kurt's heart, his poor wounded heart, turned to lead and became lost in free fall.

"Shouldn't," Blaine began and closed his eyes again as though the pure idea of speaking took such a toll on his energy he couldn't even manage a simple question. "Shouldn't you—"

"Be in New York?" Kurt finished for him in a hurried whisper, wanting to put an end to the strain in Blaine's voice. "I came as soon as my dad called. I couldn't just—Blaine, I couldn't stay there and not have any idea if you were okay or not."

"Dad?" Blaine opened his eyes again, trying so hard to focus on Kurt and everything he needed to say, needed to ask. "Your dad?"

"Yeah, he—he's the one who found you. Don't you remember?" Kurt rested a hand over his heart, emotional pain discreetly blending into physical pain.

"Couldn't see. Blur," Blaine gritted his teeth and Kurt had to fight back tears.

"Don't talk anymore, just rest, okay?" He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and slid his hand into Blaine's, tracing a light blue vein on the back of his hand. But Blaine didn't listen.

"What... what did he... tell you?" Blaine slowed down and sped up so many times in the course of such a short question that it worried Kurt.

Rather than argue though, he decided it was probably a better idea to just answer whatever Blaine asked him as quickly as he could. "Not much, just that you... that you had gotten beaten up pretty bad." He hesitated, apprehending Blaine's reaction—he almost looked...

_Relieved? What doesn't he want me to know?_

"Blaine, do you know who attacked you?"

"Random," Blaine looked exhausted now. "Didn't know."

He shouldn't. He knew that he shouldn't. He should keep his mouth shut and let Blaine sleep. But the words came so quickly he couldn't snatch them up before they left. "What... happened, Blaine?"

Blaine's eyes slipped shut again and Kurt expected them to open after a few seconds like last time. But a few seconds had come and gone. Panic started to build up steadily until Kurt was inching closer to Blaine and squeezing his hand just a little tighter. "Blaine? Blaine," he cleared his throat and tried to stifle the anxiety attaching itself to each of his words.

"How long have I...?" Blaine said suddenly, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"About a week," Kurt laced his fingers with Blaine's. "You've been unconscious the whole time..."

"Head hurts," Blaine spoke through gritted teeth again. While Kurt was sure Blaine was tired and definitely in pain, he knew Blaine was also deflecting from having to explain who attacked him and what had happened.

"You should rest, okay?" Kurt whispered. Just as he was leaning over to kiss Blaine's cheek, Cooper, Carole, and Burt walked into the room. Kurt froze for only a second before straightening up, leaving Blaine's cheek bare except for a ghastly bruise distorting the colour. The expression on Blaine's face was almost unreadable, but if Kurt had to describe it he'd call it something close to "surprise." The intended kiss was purely habitual for Kurt, that's how he rationalized it. It had nothing to do with relationship status or the fact that he had no clue how to compartmentalize any of his feelings.

"Time to get going, Kurt," Burt's eyes were soft to match his tone. "Cooper and Blaine have some things they need to discuss with the doctor."

Kurt wanted to protest, but one glance at Cooper told him everything: _not in front of Blaine._ Kurt nodded and stood up, taking a step towards Cooper to hug him goodbye. As he slid his arms around the older of the Anderson brothers, Cooper spoke quietly in Kurt's ear, "I'll be in touch later, promise." Kurt gave Cooper a light pat on the back and nodded again as he pulled away. Burt draped an arm around his son's slumped shoulders and Kurt mumbled a meek, "See you tomorrow, Blaine," before allowing himself to be led out of the room.

"Do you want to say goodbye to all of your friends?" Carole placed a hand on Kurt's back and rubbed it slowly.

"Just want to go home," Kurt answered almost apathetically. He knew Carole and Burt had exchanged looks of concern based on the way both of their footsteps faltered for the slightest millisecond.

"Where do you want to stop for dinner on the way back, kiddo?" Burt asked.

"I'm not—dad, I'm going to be sick. Please, can we just—I just want—" Kurt wouldn't cry in front of them, nor the hospital staff or his friends, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it all at bay the longer he stayed there.

"Okay, buddy. We'll just head straight home," Burt conceded without posing further questioning.

* * *

Kurt was silent for the entire drive home, neither Burt, Carole, or Finn tried to elicit a single word from him. They kept the radio volume low; the spaces in the car not overtaken by the music were filled, instead, with the sound of four collective individuals breathing disquietude to each other. None of them needed words to portray this emotion.

As soon as Burt inched into the driveway Kurt was out of the car, walking quickly to the backyard. He heard three doors close quietly behind himself, but didn't turn to look back before disappearing around the corner of the house. It had been years since he scaled the tree house his father had built for him; he'd hidden in there for two days when his mother died, pushing plates of food Burt sent up to the ground for the animals to find, before his rumbling stomach had finally gotten the better of him and he dragged himself inside with puffy eyes and defeat scrawled all over his face. He knew that Burt wouldn't question his decision to hide there again now, knew that the process would probably repeat itself all over again except for one tiny detail: he'd be climbing down tomorrow to see Blaine.

Just to be safe he knocked his fist against the wooden floor three times, feeling very silly for giving in to the superstition of relying on wood to keep his loved one from further tragedy, and laid down flat on his back. In his pocket, his phone buzzed repeatedly—he hadn't even looked at it since he'd gotten home. He wrenched it out from between the tight denim to discover Isabelle was calling him. After a second's hesitation, he answered with an uncharacteristically apathetic, "Hello?"

"Oh thank—I've been so worried about you. I've been trying to get in touch with you for days... Is—are you alright, Kurt?" Just hearing her voice made Kurt wish he had bothered to touch base with her sooner.

"I—yeah, sorry, I've just been—it's been really..." Kurt slid his hand over his eyes. She couldn't see him crying, but he wouldn't doubt her ability to guess that it was exactly what he was doing now. "I'm so sorry, Isabelle. I haven't even looked at my phone since—I didn't mean to make you so worried."

"Kurt," she spoke soothingly. "Forget about me being worried. How's—is there any good news?"

He broke down as the question left her lips and traveled safely over the airwaves to reach his pounding ears. She was able to tell how bad things were just based on fifteen seconds of conversation with him, which just added even more to the reality of the situation for Kurt. He let out an ugly, guttural sound that passed as a sob and then the words came, rushed and hysterical, "Oh god, Isabelle, he's so—he looks so helpless. And until yesterday he was unconscious. I didn't think he'd—everyone was just giving up and I let myself believe he'd—that he'd—" He sobbed again, his consternation clamping itself onto his heart with such viciousness that he had to lay his hand over his chest. "And I don't know if I'm still mad at him, if I still should be, because this doesn't change what happened, but I feel so guilty and I don't know why. I shouldn't. I have nothing to feel guilty for, but just seeing him like that—knowing that someone was able to—" he gasped, choking out the words in choppy fragments; he had no idea how Isabelle was even keeping up, if she was. "To do that to him."

She hadn't interrupted him, not once. He rambled and rambled away, listing off every insecurity he'd been too afraid to admit aloud, every possibility he'd scolded himself for considering, and she listened without judgment and with ears wide open. Only when he finally ran out of breath and sat, panting into the phone, did she choose to open her mouth instead. "You still love him, sweetie."

The words hit him like a freight train and, rather than settle after the initial crash, every single car of that train piled up onto his entire body, crushing out any of the air he might have had left in his lungs. He was thankful to have been lying down, at least.

"That doesn't just... go away. No matter how much he hurt you. He made a mistake, he came to you and admitted to it, right?" She continued.

"Yeah," Kurt sniffled.

"He didn't have to. He could have kept it a secret. From what you've told me, he still cares deeply for you. You just... have to decide if you want to try to work through what happened between you two. And it doesn't have to be now. Actually, it _shouldn't _be now... but I think you've already decided that you'd regret shutting him out of your life forever."

"So what should I do?" Kurt clung to her words, the trepidation rising once she had paused. He needed advice, needed someone else's opinion rather than the brutal debate constantly waging on inside of his head, despite how much he'd been avoiding talking to anyone for the past week. He didn't need to see Isabelle's face right now—it was easier to ask for help when he could hide away, leaving only his frightened words for her to sift through.

"He needs you as a friend right now, and you need him as one too. At least until you sort through the intensity you're feeling. Just... take this slow, okay? I know it might seem impossible, but you'd be surprised how easy things might seem if you just let go of that stigma of relationships for a little while and remember why the two of you became involved in each others' lives in the first place."

"And if that doesn't work out?" Kurt was almost afraid to ask.

"Then you'll still be able to say that you tried, right? Sometimes that's all the closure you need—one more attempt before you consider closing the book for good. You were... so happy when we first met, Kurt. You gushed about him when you didn't know I was listening, and I just don't want you to regret not ever having tried to work through this together."

"Does being an adult ever get any easier?"

"Sometimes," she let out a quiet laugh. "But would it really be worth it if it was so easy?"

"I'm just so... _tired_ of having to work for everything."

"It's what I love about you, Kurt. What I'm sure all of your friends love about you and even Blaine—you never give up on what you want, no matter how difficult it is or how out of reach it seems. You're so... determined. It's inspiring."

He sniffled again, bringing his hand away from his chest to drag it across his eyes. "How have things been over there?"

"How about we let you focus on one thing at a time, okay?" Her tone reminded Kurt of his mother, long since passed and very sorely missed at moments such as these, and he was grateful for it. He filed away a mental note to thank Carole as well for all of the times she spoke to him with the same motherly affection.

"Deal," he whispered and pressed his sleeve to his eyes, dabbing carefully at the raw skin. "I'll try to keep you updated more frequently though, I promise."

"Okay, Kurt. I'll talk to you again soon, I hope. And remember, when you start to feel overwhelmed... just breathe."

"I swear, I thought you were going to tell me to just have a kiki," he snorted into the phone, feeling the tiniest sliver of himself glide back into his body.

"Whatever zens you out, baby."

"Thanks, Isabelle," he turned his attention to the small, square cutout meant to act as a window. "I forgot how many stars there are at night out here."

"You've got billions to make wishes on then," she supplemented, sensing his longing to stay on the phone for a little longer.

"Only the first one you see," he protested, sending his wish straight up to it.

"So blink. Every time you open your eyes there's a new first star to see."

"Goodnight, Isabelle."

"Goodnight, Kurt."

They disconnected and he spent the next chunk of unmeasured time blinking at stars until his eyes watered and his father approached the base of the tree, announcing that he'd brought some blankets and pillows. Kurt said nothing as he climbed down and slid his arms around his father's torso, burying his face in Burt's chest, and let a series of sobs overtake him until his body gave way and he had to be carried inside.

* * *

**More Kurt and Blaine interaction in the next chapter, I promise. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry I've been so terrible with updates! I'm over in England currently, but figured I could hash something out for you guys. **

* * *

Cooper was asleep in a chair beside Blaine's bed when Kurt walked in on day number eleven. Kurt cringed at the sight of him—Cooper didn't look remotely comfortable with his head on his own shoulder, leaving Kurt's neck feeling stiff as he imagined how much pain Cooper was going to be in when he finally woke up. On the bed, Blaine was lying down and staring at his hand as he clenched and unclenched his fist. It took him a moment before he noticed that Kurt had walked in. Blaine seemed more lucid today, Kurt thought hopefully, but he wasn't sure by how much.

"Hey there," Kurt smiled weakly when Blaine looked up. "What're you doing?"

"Thinking," Blaine replied simply.

"Thinking about what?" Kurt took a seat on the edge of Blaine's bed.

"Remembering," Blaine moved a hand to his forehead, working his fingers into his temple. "Memory exercises."

"What sort of things? Maybe you should say them out loud. That way I can tell you if they're true or not," Kurt suggested against his better judgment.

"My name is Blaine Anderson," Blaine hadn't hesitated at Kurt's request.

"Correct," Kurt folded his hands on his lap.

"I'm eighteen years old."

"Right," Kurt smiled.

"I broke your heart," Blaine lowered his voice, staring at his hand again as he clenched his fist.

"...yeah, you did," Kurt watched him curiously, his tone soft. "What else can you remember, Blaine?"

"Why are you here, Kurt?" Blaine looked up at him again, his fist still balled up tightly, and Kurt could _see_ all of the insecurities he hadn't been able to pick up on over the phone since they had stuck five hundred miles in between themselves.

"Because I was worried and wanted to see that you were alright," Kurt replied genuinely.

"What about work? Aren't you—"

"Isabelle understands. It's fine, Blaine."

Blaine mumbled something under his breath, probably more to himself, but Kurt questioned it anyways with a well placed, "Hmm?"

"Not worth missing work over," Blaine repeated and suddenly looked very puzzled. "Did I say that out loud?"

"You did. Did you not mean to...?" Kurt wasn't sure what constituted as an emergency, but his hand gravitated towards the call button regardless.

"Don't," Blaine raised his other hand, his slender fingers trembling as he failed to lift it up any higher than three inches away from his stomach. "Don't." Kurt lowered his hand into his lap again.

"Blaine, what else do you remember? Let's keep going," Kurt suggested after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "Where do you go to school?"

"Dal—McKinley. West McKinley high school," Blaine furrowed his brows.

"Right. What's your brother's name?"

"Cooper," Blaine passed a lazy glance in Cooper's direction and let his gaze linger. "It's nice that he's here. I'm glad that he's here."

"Where are your parents? Were you guys able to get in touch with them?" Kurt cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.

"No," Blaine sounded dazed as he kept staring at Cooper, his eyes mirroring the distance Kurt had always felt when he first moved to New York.

_When did I stop noticing that distance? He didn't have as many things to distract him from it like I did. _

"When's the last time you spoke to them?" Kurt stopped himself from reaching his hand out and placing it under Blaine's chin.

"I don't remember," Blaine replied in the same dazed tone of voice. "I think they were on a business trip out of the country. Or vacation." Kurt spent the entire uneasy attempt at recollection staring at Blaine, unable to hide the melancholy despair. Blaine turned his head just the slightest so that he could to glance at Kurt, but kept his attention mainly on Cooper. "Don't look at me like that. Not you, don't look at me like that..."

"Like what, Blaine?" Kurt's voice cracked and he cleared his throat quietly.

"Like I'm some broken pathetic... thing. I'm not—I'm—I'm..."

"Oh, Blaine," was all Kurt could think to say. Any semblance of anger that Kurt should have still felt eluded him. "That's not what I think of you."

"You feel sorry for me. You should hate me, you shouldn't even be here, you should—"

"Do you not want me here?"

"Of course I want you here!" Blaine exclaimed and proceeded to lower his voice after noticing Cooper stir gently in the chair. "But what I want and what should be are two very different things."

"Let's not sit and worry about what should and shouldn't be, because if we start that it'll never end. I'm here and I'm staying," Kurt tentatively placed his hand on Blaine's, who returned the gesture with wide eyes, puzzled and hesitant.

"You should hate me... I do," Blaine blurted out, the words falling from the cloud of a whisper.

"I never hated you, I could never hate you," Kurt pressed his palm against Blaine's, cradling the calloused skin between his hands. The tail end of Blaine's confession still hung between them. "You shouldn't hate yourself, Blaine."

"I—"

"Excuse me?" They both turned their attention to the door where a young man occupied the entryway. "Blaine Anderson?" He continued and Blaine proceeded to gape at him.

"Yes," Kurt answered for him. "This is Blaine Anderson."

"If you're feeling up to it, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions," he took off his hat, revealing an unruly mess of thick black hair, and tucked it under his arm before holding up a badge.

_I guess Harry Potter never became an Auror after all._

Kurt surveyed the man for a few more seconds before turning his eyes to Blaine, who—sometime in the last minute—had adapted such a look of terror that it made Kurt's heart flutter madly in an attempt to escape his body, wanting to do all that it could to comfort Blaine and ease that horrible expression off of his face.

"About the attack," the officer continued when neither Kurt nor Blaine had said anything.

"Do you want me to stay?" Kurt gave Blaine's hand a gentle squeeze. Blaine shook his head and Kurt seemed a little taken aback, but shrugged it off before squeezing Blaine's hand again. "Okay. I'm going to take a walk, I'll be back soon." Blaine nodded, still not really offering much of his attention to Kurt as he proceeded to gawk at the officer.

_I'd give anything to know what he's thinking right now, _Kurt thought as he stood up and passed by the officer with a polite smile.

The door closed behind him as soon as he was clear of the entryway, the quiet clicking of the lock sent shock waves through Kurt's body that didn't quite match up to the docile manner with which the officer had shut the door with. As he was starting to walk away, he heard their voices from behind the door... not nearly as muffled as they should have been.

_I shouldn't eavesdrop. _

He remained frozen, the thumping in his chest nearly drowning out the sounds behind the door.

_He wouldn't want you to listen. Walk away, Kurt. _

He pressed an ear closer to the door, guilt flittering away to hide under a giant rug of his curiosities, and willed himself to breathe a little quieter.

"The hospital called us. It's standard procedure," the officer explained. "You have nothing to feel embarrassed about. Do you think you can tell me what happened?"

"I didn't know them, I can't help you," Blaine answered quickly, dismissively.

"Mr. Anderson, I'm trying to help _you. _Anything you can remember will be a great help. Anything at all."

"I left school late and my car broke down," Blaine began with hesitation. "I was—I couldn't call anyone, my phone was dead and so I just—I started walking. I ran into them on my way through the park."

"How many were there?"

"Three?" Though Kurt couldn't see him, he imagined Blaine was probably massaging his temples, his eyes fixed on the bed.

"Did they say anything to you?"

There was silence and for a fraction of a second, Kurt was afraid the entire interview had been too much for Blaine, that he'd slipped away into unconsciousness again simply to hide away from having to expose himself like this anymore.

* * *

"Blaine, did they say anything to you?" the officer repeated.

Blaine shut his eyes, the dull pounding in his head growing sharper and more persistent. "They... They were teasing me. One of them kept—kept—well, I mean, I guess you could say he was catcalling me?"

"And then what happened?"

"I ignored them. Kept walking and just ignored them. But they started following me. Called me a f—they knew that I was—that I'm... different," Blaine pressed his fingers into his forehead, hoping it would be enough of a sign that he didn't want to continue the conversation any longer. Clearly, he'd been unable to get his point across though, because the next few lines came without hesitation.

"I'm not here to pass judgment on your lifestyle, Blaine. I want to catch these guys and make them pay for what they did. Just be honest, you don't have to be afraid."

"Gay, they were able to tell that I'm gay. I can't remember their faces, but they must have known me," Blaine wanted to dig his nails into his forehead and drag out whatever little creature had nestled against his skull, using his brain as a gong.

"Is that when they—There's no gentle way to put this so I'm going to have to be blunt, I'm sorry. One of the main reasons we, specifically, were called is because of the signs of sexual assault you exhibited. I've already spoken to a Mr.…. Burt Hummel, and he explained that when he found you your pants were down and you were bleeding a fair amount. Is that what happened next?" The officer took down notes, but Blaine could feel that the man's eyes definitely weren't on his notepad.

"You know, I never caught your name," Blaine whispered through a particularly painful thump against his temple.

"It's Carson. Detective Carson," he answered kindly.

"Well, that part came later, Detective Carson," Blaine returned his gentle tone with bitterness as a sudden flare up of pain further south reminded him of the detective's question. Not that he could really forget. "Are we—are we almost finished?"

"Almost. I can't imagine how difficult this is for you, Blaine. You're doing very well. Can you explain what happened? Had all three of them—"

"They used the bat they beat me with. None of them—I don't think they—that they, you know—it's all just jumbled, I can't—"

"S'going on?" Cooper's sleepy drawl cut through Blaine's oncoming panic attack and both Blaine and Detective Carson turned their attention to the older Anderson. Blaine had nearly forgotten he was still in the room.

"It's alright, we're finished for now, Blaine. I think maybe you should rest for a little while and then we'll pick this up again later, okay?" Detective Carson flipped his notebook closed. "I'll leave you and your brother to talk." He gave them both a polite smile before opening the door to find Kurt sitting against the wall opposite the door, his eyes fixed on the tiled floor with tears streaming down his cheeks. Kurt immediately brushed his thumbs under his eyes and looked up at the detective.

"Oh, are you finished?"

Blaine felt his terror only intensify as he heard Kurt's tone.

_Was he listening? _

Kurt walked in with red eyes and an unreadable expression—not a good sign, Blaine decided. As he watched Kurt, Blaine noticed a dull buzzing noise to his left and discovered Cooper had still been talking to him. His temple pulsed angrily and he slid his fingers over it. "What did you say, Coop?"

"What was that all about?" Cooper asked in a voice that suggested he must have asked the question at least a few times already.

"Officer just wanted to ask about the attack," Kurt filled in the gap of silence that Blaine had let linger. Cooper looked between the two of them before letting his eyes settle on Blaine in silent inquiry: _does he know?_

_Don't say a damn thing, _Blaine stared back at him warningly before succumbing to another surge of pain that almost made him sick.

"Coop, can I have a minute with him?" Kurt asked quietly.

"Sure, Kurt. I'm just going to grab a coffee," Cooper replied and all but sprinted out of the room to avoid further obligations to choose a side.

Rather than delve right into an interrogation—as Blaine assumed Kurt would do—he simply stared at Blaine as his eyes continued to well up and spill over the useless little dams that never really kept any tears at bay. This was worse, Blaine thought. This was way worse.

"You're doing it again," Blaine felt uncomfortable under Kurt's melancholy doe eyes.

"Why wouldn't you tell me something like that? I don't deserve to know?" Kurt disregarded Blaine's statement.

"Kurt, you sent me a text telling me to leave you alone. That you didn't want to hear from me anymore," Blaine explained, slightly surprised that he even needed to.

"That was before—"

"Before what? Before you decided that you're just going to feel sorry for me and talk to me again out of pity?" Blaine knew he wasn't being fair, knew that he was coming off as snarky, but he figured he could at least partially blame his mood on the fact that his brain was being cleaved into separate hemispheres. "...I'm sorry, Kurt. I—"

"You always try to scare me off like this when you're upset and afraid," Kurt wiped away his tears and actually smiled. "Has it ever worked?"

"I just... didn't picture us talking again because of something like this. Because I was... I was..."

"Raped," Kurt supplied in a barely-there whisper. Blaine flinched at the word as another eruption of pain pulsed through him, starting from the over-sensitive ring of muscles that had been stretched too wide and too quickly all the way up to his head.

"Kurt, I think I'm going to be sick," Blaine whimpered, his eyes falling shut as he gave up on forcing them to stay open. He heard the quick shuffling of footsteps and felt the uncomfortable mattress sink down before Kurt's hand was on Blaine's stomach, rubbing careful, gentle circles. The gesture was meant to be more soothing than actually helpful, they both knew that. So when Blaine's eyes snapped open in frenzied fretfulness, his face so pale it put the walls to shame, and he lurched forward, gagging over a trash bin Kurt had set beside the bed, Kurt didn't take it too personally that his actions of affection had possessed no real medical benefit.

"It's okay, you're okay."

There was that word again; he'd managed to let it slip when he knew things were the farthest they could ever be from okay.

Kurt was wary of where to put his hands on Blaine, the thin gown doing very little in providing warmth for Blaine but doing a very good job at covering up the numerous bruises Kurt guessed were scattered underneath. He sent a silent prayer out and hoped that Blaine's lower back was safe as he slid his palm over it. Blaine's body shook as he gagged again, but he hadn't reacted to Kurt's touch—a hopeful sign for Kurt as he began massaging the area, keeping his radius small. Cooper waltzed in, took one glance at the two of them, and strolled right back out.

Blaine kept his eyes to the ground as the gagging subsided, his nerves still stumbling over themselves, as Kurt continued trying to redirect them back to where they belonged and will them to settle down. "I know what you're thinking, stop it," Kurt whispered suddenly. "I've seen you get sick before, it's not a big deal."

Blaine almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

"Is it because you're thinking about what happened?"

"That, and my head has been splitting itself in two ever since I woke up," Blaine grimaced, nausea becoming a friend he no longer wanted to be so well acquainted with anymore.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Kurt scolded him, torn between leaving to find a doctor and staying with Blaine.

"This? It's nothing. I've had headaches worse than these before. Can't think of any times right now..." Blaine rattled off as colour briefly made an appearance on his face again before fading away once more.

Kurt laughed unexpectedly, breathy and familiar and though it sent another lightning bolt of pain into Blaine's brain, he was elated that things felt normal, even if only for a fleeting millisecond. "Okay, John Smith," Kurt replied, catching the reference Blaine had made. "Do you want me to get someone in here though?

"Just stay here with me," Blaine murmured, closing his eyes again.

"Okay," Kurt whispered back, tearing his eyes away only when Cooper returned with a doctor. Blaine had already slipped away into unconsciousness though. "It's fine, he felt a little sick but he's just fallen asleep n—"

Beside him, Blaine's body began to shake and a series of rushed beeps from the machines attached to him sounded off in a discordant symphony. Kurt watched, in shock, as Blaine's body continued to lose control of itself. But when Cooper's hand firmly grasped his shoulder, Kurt's brain began working again and he managed a meek, "What's happening?" as he was pulled off of the bed.

"I—I don't know, Kurt," Cooper kept his hand on Kurt's shoulder as he peered over at the bed, where the doctor was now leaning down over Blaine and calling out orders as fellow members of the hospital staff herded into the room.

"He was fine!" Kurt exclaimed to the growing general audience, "What's happening to him? He was just fine a minute ago!"

"Get them out of here," the doctor whom Cooper had returned with ordered with urgency. "Push 5cc of Ativan."

And, once again, Kurt found himself on the other side of a closed door, staring it down with scorn and confusion as he went over the last few seconds in his head again, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong.

* * *

**Let me know if there's anything more of (or less of) that you would like to see. And please review if you liked what you read!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: Enjoy some interaction between Kurt and Cooper plus a few more kilos of angst. **

* * *

"Coop, what—what do we do?" Kurt tore his eyes away from the door, his voice so small and distant that he could hardly recognise it as his own.

"Let's go see who's in the waiting room today," Cooper cast a solemn glance towards the door as he draped an arm carefully around Kurt's shoulders.

"Mr. Anderson?"

Both Kurt and Cooper snapped their heads in the direction of the mystery voice, where a young pale woman with bright blue eyes stood. She clutched a clipboard in her hand, and Kurt took note of how still those hands were, how collected she was in comparison to them. She pushed a strand of black hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, before continuing.

"I need you to sign some things for me, since your parents are still absent."

All of the colour instantly drained from Cooper's face as she held out the clipboard. She hadn't even begun to explain what each form was for, but Kurt could see how terrified Cooper already was.

"What," Cooper cleared his throat loudly, the single word had come out scathed and uncertain, "What are they?"

"The top form is for brain surgery, the one below is—in case anything goes wrong—your decision to keep your brother on life support or not."

Kurt had to grab onto Cooper's shirt to keep him from toppling over. In one second everything had changed; Kurt had allowed himself to get too comfortable with the idea of calmness that he had forgotten all about the true calamity that occurred during the storm. He counted seconds in his head to attribute to Cooper's silence.

One.

_Okay, he's in shock._

Two.

_Still in shock._

Three.

_This is urgent Cooper, tell her you'll keep him on life support and sign the damn things._

Four.

_I know this is hard for you, it's hard for me too._

Five—

"I—we never talked about anything like this. I don't—I have no idea if it's what he would want."

It was Kurt's turn for all of the air to evacuate his lungs now, leaving him disoriented and weak at the knees. A strong, irritatingly familiar flapping of wings stirred violently in his chest, panic surging through him as his brain processed and translated what Cooper was saying into simpler terms: _he's talking about letting him die_. Any previous notions anyone might have had about Kurt's brilliant ability to remain cool and collected under stress were laid to rest right then and there.

"Are you talking about killing him?" He blurted out, unable to keep the tension from distorting every syllable into a symphony of terrified sound. "You wouldn't even give him a chance? He already wasn't supposed to wake up; I don't believe in miracles, but—fuck. Give him a goddamn chance at least."

Cooper didn't need to hear anymore. He swiped the clipboard away, a new triumphant air of "big brother" pushing through to the surface of the frightened child he'd currently been hiding himself away under, and scrawled his name sloppily onto the dotted lines. A hint of shame glistened in his uncharacteristically dull eyes, as if he was embarrassed for even considering the thought to not keep Blaine on life support. The moment he and Kurt entered the waiting room though, his newfound strength had quickly petered away, leaving him slumped in a chair as he used whatever remaining energy was left in his muscles to cover his eyes with his hand. His head thumped back against the wall, loudly, as Kurt sank into a seat beside him and—after a few seconds of hesitation—gently placed his hand on Cooper's knee.

"Just once," Cooper began, a tremble in his voice; Kurt had grown so accustomed to Cooper's dramatics that these new reactions were beginning to throw him off. "I wish he could catch a break. It's been one thing after the other."

Kurt silently considered the words, rolled and re-rolled them over in his head. It was true—he couldn't deny it. As confused as he was about his feelings for his ex-boyfriend, as defensive as he might get when it came to the topic of their break-up... it was true—Blaine hadn't been able to relax since the first time a group of boys had ganged up on him and beaten him senseless. But he'd been Kurt's rock, through everything. Blaine had scrambled past his demons in a rush to smother Kurt's, but he hadn't vanquished his own and now they had finally caught up to him again to torment him even more.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I know that—he told me about the break-up—I know that things have been hard for you too," Cooper breached Kurt's contemplation.

"That doesn't matter right now," though he hadn't been able to keep himself from believing so at times. "Let's just... I want to focus on him getting better. That's it. There aren't any sides for anyone to take when it comes to that."

Cooper nodded his agreement, but his mind was already jumping to another thought that he apparently couldn't hold down any longer. "I just can't believe that this happened to him. I don't know what it's going to do to him."

"I've been wondering the same thing..." Kurt chewed on his lip, something he'd taken up quite recently, and folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think he ever fully recovered from the first attack."

The admission still felt heavy on his chest as the words came tumbling out. He hadn't been able to discuss it with anyone, Blaine always deflected and—aside from Cooper, his father, and Mr. and Mrs. Anderson—nobody else knew about the source of Blaine's anger, or the nightmares and flashbacks that sometimes wrapped their fingers so tightly around his neck that he could barely recognise his surroundings without Kurt there to guide him back to the present. Kurt could remember one night that was particularly worse than all of the others.

It had been their second official sleepover, after eight months of dating and recently discovering the joys of each other beneath the sheets, but the first at Kurt's house. Burt had been away for the weekend with Carole and hadn't even bothered to mention "Blaine can't stay over." He knew something had happened between them, that some tiny factor had changed and introduced the spring in his son's step that he hadn't seen for so long. While he didn't like to think about it, he had a fairly decent understanding of what was going on between the two teenage boys and he had placed enough trust in Kurt's judgement to know that his son was being safe.

And so they were snuggled up in Kurt's bed, taking up far too little space considering the actual size of it—queen—while Blaine was already falling asleep halfway through _La Vie En Rose._ Kurt could tell that something had upset Blaine before his visit, but his boyfriend had refused to talk about it. So when Blaine's eyes slipped shut just as Kurt's favourite scene was coming up, he attributed it to whatever might have happened instead of assuming Blaine had just been too bored to stay awake for the film. As Kurt clicked the television off, Blaine's eyes fluttered open and he drew in a few quick, panicked breaths. Kurt jumped and squeaked loudly, resting a hand over his chest and informed Blaine that he'd almost been scared to death.

But Blaine wasn't listening. His eyes darted around the room with such speed that Kurt feared they would roll right back into his head and a fierce shiver struck him like lightning. Kurt reached a hand out and rested it on Blaine's shoulder, immediately discovering a tense knot of muscles. Blaine jerked himself away and burst into tears, choking out an anguished, "No! No, no stop! Please—" Kurt tried everything to calm him down, helplessly pleading and trying to remind Blaine that they were alone and no one could hurt them. It was only when Blaine jerked away again and accidentally smacked his hand against Kurt's face that he finally snapped out of it. Blood trickled from Kurt's nose before surging out in a steady stream, but he remained planted in the bed with his hand cupped under his nose; Blaine ushered a thousand and one apologies in a matter of seconds, his throat tight, upon noticing the sticky red mess coating his boyfriend's hand before pulling Kurt into the bathroom to clean him up. They spent the next ten minutes waiting for the blood to stop in silent conversation, Kurt's eyes posing innocent, curious questions and Blaine's portraying nothing but his humiliation. They never spoke about it, despite Kurt's insistence that they did, and so it was swept away into the little cupboard in the back of Kurt's mind where he kept all of his inconversable inquiries regarding Blaine Devon Anderson.

"Our parents basically chose to pretend that it never happened once Blaine was physically healed. I'll never forget seeing him in the hospital that first night," Cooper combed his fingers through slightly greasy hair and Kurt felt the smallest hint of a connection with the older Anderson and a glimmer of reprieve in the knowledge that he wasn't the only one who wasn't exactly taking care of himself lately. "He was so out of it, whatever medication they had him on, and he kept asking me if they hated him. If our parents hated him. Can you believe that? He's laying there in a hospital bed and all he can think about is—"

Cooper shook his head, cutting himself off, and clenched both fists until the skin stretched itself pale over his knuckles. Kurt watched him in misplaced wonder, never having seen this side of Cooper before. "I was the one who suggested he take up boxing, you know? I could see how angry he was—I thought it would be good for him. Teach him how to defend himself. Look how well that worked out."

"There were three guys and they jumped him, Coop," Kurt argued quietly. "We both know if it was only one that Blaine would have murdered him."

"Yeah," Cooper replied with a hint of bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "I need a coffee. Can I get you anything?"

_My ex-boyfriend._

"No, thanks," Kurt folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the chair, slumping down into an angle which could only be described as "uncomfortable." Cooper didn't question him further before standing up and walking away, leaving Kurt alone with his thoughts. He kept replaying the last half hour in his head, every bit of conversation overlapped and clashed in discordance until one line stuck out.

_I have no idea if it's what he would want._

Despite what Cooper was debating, despite the weight of such a decision and its permanent side effects, he was taking Blaine's possible desires into consideration. Based on what little knowledge Kurt had of the Anderson brothers' parents, he assumed they never even bothered to ask what it was that their son wanted. And the more Kurt thought about it, the more he realised that very few people ever did. From the Warblers to New Directions, everyone had just expected things from Blaine. And Kurt could tell it all added weight to the world that Blaine was already carrying on his shoulders, even though Blaine would never admit to it or let his ear-to-ear grin falter.

_I did it to him too._

The thought came quickly and almost felt like a slap in the face. And suddenly little flashes of conversation between them assaulted his brain in quick successions: Blaine being indecisive about leaving Dalton, Blaine explaining why he transferred to McKinley.

_No. I didn't really expect all that from him, did I? I didn't pressure him into coming to McKinley, he wanted to. He said he wanted to. Who am I kidding? Of course he said that, he doesn't want to disappoint anyone that he cares about. _

And then there was Blaine wanting to discuss their long distance relationship before graduation.

_But I just kept putting it off. I didn't think about how much he needed to talk about it, I just didn't want to discuss it. But that doesn't mean I didn't care, that doesn't mean I didn't stop to consider what he wanted. Of course I did. _

Blaine trying so very hard to talk about himself over Skype and being drowned out by Kurt's NYC adventures.

_I listened to him, I was happy for him. He's the one that cheated, he's the one that screwed up. _

He immediately hunched over and cradled his head in his hands. These were the types of thoughts that he had been trying to avoid and their appearance now only made him feel angry with himself.

"You okay?" Cooper sank down beside him again, his voice gravelly and weak in a way Kurt had become very familiarised with. One tiny peek to his left and Kurt could see the splotchy red outlines of Cooper's eyes—he'd stepped away to cry in peace. As Cooper tipped a small styrofoam cup against his lips Kurt entered into another silent debate with himself: should I or shouldn't I ask him if he wants to talk about it more? Cooper lowered the cup from his mouth and Kurt sat up straighter, realizing he hadn't even answered Cooper's question. While he knew he wouldn't have the strength to have to sit and reassure Cooper, he also knew that he couldn't just leave him to wander alone in the dark.

"Are _you_?"

Cooper crinkled his nose as though he was considering what the right answer to Kurt's question should be. It reminded Kurt of Blaine in his rare moments of indecisiveness.

"Yeah," Cooper grasped his cup between both hands. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"So, uh, did he... tell you about what happened?" Kurt twisted his fingers together and interlocked them. "About the—what they..."

"Yeah," Cooper set the cup down in th floor and closed his eyes. "Yesterday. He just broke down and told me everything. I could fucking kill them. The police had better catch the sons of bitches before I do."

"I'm sure Blaine needs you here, not in prison," Kurt commented but he wouldn't mind being able to wrap his own fingers around the necks of those boys.

"Yeah, yeah..." Cooper grunted and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at it and sighed heavily before setting it facedown on his lap.

"Have your parents always been like this? Too... busy? Too unavailable?"

"Not always. Not from what I remember, anyways. And when Blaine was younger... my dad was great with him, with both of us. I could always tell my baby brother liked boys though, I think it took our parents by surprise when it wasn't 'just a phase.' When Blaine announced he wanted to marry Prince Aladdin when he was eight things were never the same. And when he was attacked... I hate them for what they did to him. He'd been through enough with those kids at school, he didn't need to be bullied at home too," Cooper glanced at his phone again out of habit and another loud, disappointed, sigh breached his lips. "They both started working later and later after that, or just disappearing and leaving Blaine with our neighbor to babysit him whenever I couldn't."

"He never talks about them," Kurt's heart felt so heavy he wasn't sure of how it was even keeping itself suspended in his chest. "I've met them maybe once or twice."

"They went on vacation, last I spoke with them. Sometimes I feel so... guilty for moving away," Cooper slid his hand through his hair, leaving even more oil from his fingers in it. Both of them were in desperate need for a shower and a good night's sleep. "You know?" he added, nervously, as though he was afraid Kurt would confirm his fears and mention something Blaine might have said about resenting Cooper for it.

"Blaine's really happy that you're out doing something that you love. It really gives him hope, I think, that he can do the same someday. Get the hell out of this state."

"He's too big for these small towns," Cooper laughed airily.

"He really is," Kurt agreed, his mind beginning to travel lightyears away.

They passed the time exchanging stories about the east and west coast, occasionally throwing in little tidbits about Blaine into the mix, until Burt and Carole walked into the waiting room with matching deep frown lines.

"Why are you boys sitting out here?" Carole gave Kurt an affectionate pat on the head, ruffling his hair.

"And how long?" Burt added.

Cooper and Kurt exchanged lost-boy looks with each other—they hadn't been keeping track of the time. In fact, they had been doing everything they could to avoid measuring it and their plan appeared to have worked.

"Blaine had a seizure, maybe a few hours ago? We're not really sure, I don't think either of us know how long we've been sitting out here. They took him away for surgery right after," Cooper sat up in his chair, stretching slowly. If their sore backs could be used as any indication of time passed, Kurt had to guess it had been at least three hours since Blaine's seizure. Burt Hummel's frown lines only grew deeper as he watched his son while Cooper delivered the news; Kurt knew the expression very well.

"No, I don't want to talk about it, dad," he mumbled quietly before his father could even get a word out.

"It's not good for you to keep everything bottled up like this..." Burt offered helplessly.

"Dad, please," Kurt pleaded, subtle desperation leaking through. "_Please_ just drop it."

Burt nodded, obviously willing to respect his son's wishes, but the frown lines never faded—Kurt feared they might actually begin to become permanent, not just for Burt but for all of them. His mind flew to their friends in Glee club, friends who had visited night and day since the attack to offer all of the support that they could. He thought of Sam and Puck, both of whom had managed to cry harder than Rachel had the first night, and wondered if Blaine knew that so many people cared for his well being and were there to aid him throughout his recovery. And, as if by magic, Puck and Sam strolled in through the front door and right over to them.

"What's everyone doing out here?" Sam tilted his head.

"Oh no, did something else happen?" Puck interjected and looked to Kurt with wide eyes.

"Yeah," Kurt's voice became trapped in his throat, sounding mangled as he spoke. "Seizure."

"Is he okay? When?" Puck looked between Kurt and Cooper.

"Puck, maybe now isn't the time to—" Sam touched Puck's elbow gently to match his tone.

"It was a few hours ago," Cooper answered. "We don't know anything else."

"Fucking," Puck started off angrily, but quickly deflated, "Dammit. Fucking goddamnit."

"Took the words out of my mouth," Kurt's quiet voice joined him. "I'm going to step outside for a minute. It's too hot in here."

He stood up quickly and trailed out the front door just as the words "But it's raining!" reached his ears. He didn't care, he needed the scenery change, needed to look at something other than his own depression reflected back to him on every single person's face he had come into contact with the past eleven days. Outside of the hospital there was a small awning offering protection from the heavy downfall that must have started up recently. Kurt leaned his back against the wall, closed his eyes, sliding down it, and tried to sink into a world of simpler times.

"Want some company?"

Kurt didn't have to open his eyes to know that it was Noah Puckerman who had followed him out. The edge in his voice left Kurt's skin crawling.

"Sure, Noah," Kurt reluctantly forced his eyes open again and studied the rain battering the pavement. Puck took a seat beside Kurt and leaned his head back against the wall.

"How are you doing with all of this?" he asked hesitantly, carefully, and Kurt had the sudden image of himself sliding his fingers around Puck's neck and crushing out all of the air so there would be one less person asking him some form of _Are you okay?_. He shook his head, erasing it away like an Etch-A-Sketch, and shrugged his shoulders. "Can I ask you something?"

"I'm sure you will anyways," Kurt replied with light hostility. If Puck picked up on it, he wasn't discouraged in any way.

"Why did you guys break up?"

There were more than a few ways to handle this, but Kurt chose the most direct approach with the least amount of tact. "He cheated on me."

"No," Puck stated, dumbly. "He—"

"Cheated on me," Kurt finished, knowing that his frustration really had nothing to do specifically with Puck and his curiosity. He was beginning to understand Blaine's mood swings better and why his ex-boyfriend chose to take his anger out on punching bags so often—it was exhausting trying to constantly feign a smile for the sake of others and maintain civility when all he wanted to do was scream and claw out the eyes of the boys who had caused such damage.

"No wonder he's been dodging my calls for weeks," Puck followed up, as if the new piece of information filled in every missing gap of the giant puzzle that was Blaine Anderson.

"I wasn't aware that you guys kept in touch."

"Of course we did," Puck tilted his head curiously, his eyes doing all of the talking for him: _Why does that surprise you?_

Kurt shrugged again and stood up, brushing his hands over his jeans to wipe away any residual dirt from the pavement. "Why do you care so much about our breaking up?"

"Well," Puck sucked in his lower lip and concentrated. Kurt had never seen him with such a focused look on his face before. "I mean, you guys were sort of the couple to look up to."

Kurt couldn't hold back the snort that should have taken away from Puck's heartfelt confession, but somehow didn't. He never viewed himself and Blaine as the "it couple," nor did he ever imagine they would be the description of Noah Puckerman's ideal couple. The entire conversation left him feeling as though he must have fallen asleep and was trapped in some silly dream where the part of his brain still branded with everything Blaine Anderson related controlled everything.

"I'm serious," Puck defended himself politely. "At least for me. I loved what you guys had, I wanted it, I—seeing you guys look at each other like that everyday—if you two could find each other the way you had, then maybe I could find someone too."

"Noah Puckerman, one woman guy? Doesn't have quite the ring to it out loud as it did in my head," Kurt let a small smile run free to collapse unsteadily upon his tense features; the result was a crooked smile he had actually meant to be genuine, but probably came off as more condescending instead.

"Go on, make fun of me all you want," Puck confirmed Kurt's suspicions and rolled his eyes. "But you guys had something... real, and I want a taste of it someday."

"Sorry, we're not into—"

"Not with you two!" Puck interrupted him, his voice raising quickly in volume.

Kurt smiled again, small and unforced—it felt good to be able to laugh with an old friend—before taking the conversation down a more serious route once more. "I really don't know where we stand now. It's—it's very complicated."

Puck didn't interrupt so Kurt started walking in circles as he continued. "I don't know if I can trust him again. And now isn't the time to bring any of this up. He's a mess, I'm a mess—and all he needs right now are his friends and family, nice and simple. No... relationship problems to worry about. No complications."

"Do you still love him?"

It was such an elementary question, one that required a mere "yes" or "no," but Puck might as well have asked him what the exact distance from their current location to the sun was—he couldn't answer it. He wanted to, but he was afraid. The pitter patter of rain was all that filled the distance between the silence and Kurt let each drop resonate against his eardrums until they reaembled a discordant timpani solo.

"I," _bom bom bom! Thump thump thump!_ "I don't—I don't know," he slumped his shoulders in defeat.

"I didn't ask if you've forgiven him, I asked if you still loved him. You're thinking too much," Puck got to his feet as well and rested his hand on Kurt's shoulder. "What's the first thing you think of when I say his name?"

"Lilacs," Kurt responded without missing a beat.

"Lilacs?"

"And how we found out that he was allergic to them," Kurt laughed a little guiltily at the memory. "It was our first Valentine's Day together, and I wanted to surprise him with something other than roses. The poor thing, he couldn't stop sneezing for our entire date." He laughed a little more and then his expression grew serious, a new weight settling onto his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"I just... want him to be okay, I want _us_ to be okay," Kurt's heart fluttered and he had to struggle to keep himself grounded.

"I think you have your answer then, don't you?" Puck said.

"When did you get so profound?" Kurt reached his hand out into the rain and let icy drops coat it until he felt more awake.

"Come on," Puck rolled his eyes and smiled. "Let's head back in."

Kurt let his chin drop to his chest, exhaustion forcing him to nod once, and Puck hooked their arms together before leading him back inside. Under different circumstances, Kurt could envision them walking through the mall like this on a Saturday night, people-watching and passing judgement—his heart panged with guilt as he suddenly remembered, _'That's my and Blaine's thing to do.' _

He let Puck guide him back to the group and proceeded to collapse into a chair in between Cooper and Burt that might as well have had his name written on it with the amount of time he'd spent occupying it. Upon their arrival, Sam glanced between them with curious eyes, but neither boys chose to share anything. After a few minutes and a number of texts exchanged with Isabelle Kurt dragged his knuckles against sore eyes, finding it much more difficult to stay awake now. To his left, Cooper also seemed to be having trouble keeping his head upright and Kurt watched it repeatedly fall against his own shoulder, followed by a jolt that travelled through his entire body.

"You boys look exhausted," Burt peered over at Kurt from underneath the rim of his baseball cap. Rather than reply, Kurt leaned his head onto his father's shoulder and simply let himself drift away—he couldn't fight it anymore, not did he want to. He only hoped there would be good news waiting for him when he woke up.

* * *

**Please leave a review if you like it so far! And please let me know if there's something specifiyou'd like to be addressed in the next chapter. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: So, based on the outline I have for this chapter, this is really only about half of what I originally had planned. I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer though. I'm hoping to have another update relatively soon. Happy Glee day, everyone. **

**Come what Klaine.**

* * *

"Kurt. Kurt, wake up."

He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on whom the voice belonged to, still far too tired to differentiate between everyone. Maybe his father, it seemed to sound like him.

"Kurt, they're letting us see him."

His eyes fluttered open immediately; his heart pounded adrenaline into his veins so quickly that it left him feeling not only wide-awake but also slightly disoriented. Cooper. It was Cooper's voice. He dedicated a millisecond of his time to trying to fathom how he could have confused Cooper's voice for his father's.

"Same room?" Kurt quickly abandoned the thought, his words carrying the thick scent of a yawn begging to escape.

"Yeah, come on. Only two of us at a time though—everyone says we should go first."

Kurt didn't need to be told twice. He rubbed his eyes again and glanced around; Santana and Tina had managed to appear while he was asleep; Sam and Puck were rubbing their eyes and yawning to the left of him; and his father and Carole were not anywhere in sight. He waited for Cooper to hastily stretch his arms and legs before they both set off at a brisk pace down the maze of hallways leading to Blaine's room. The journey was becoming too familiar for Kurt's liking, and a pound of salt settled itself uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach every time he passed patients' rooms that he could easily recognize by now. When they finally reached the door to Blaine's room he blinked and kept his eyes closed just a little longer than necessary, taking whatever amount of time allowed to him to compose himself; Cooper's hand found its way to his back and he offered Kurt a gentle, uncertain smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ready?" he asked, breathy and afraid.

Kurt nodded once and let out a shallow sigh. "As I'll ever be."

Cooper gave the door a light push and it opened easily. Kurt trailed in after him with eyes to the floor to delay having to see Blaine in his further fragile state. Eventually, though, he lifted his head to discover him—half-awake and sporting a crooked smile—propped upright against six pillows. Kurt breathed in the initial sight of him in one short gulp of air, claiming that smile as a keepsake, before his eyes settled on the bandages wrapped around his head. Without further time to linger on the impending avalanche of emotions he gravitated towards the right side of the bed where he took one of Blaine's hands between his own. Through the sedation, Blaine seemed to be partially aware of his surroundings and he turned to Kurt and offered a toothy grin. Aside from the setting, aside from the reasoning behind being there, Kurt wouldn't have minded being able to stay just like this for as long as possible. Things felt simple, for the teeniest fragment of time, with Blaine's hand—calloused and familiar—between his own and that old schoolboy smile that had vanished from both of their lives. The state of simplicity was rather short-lived and by the time Blaine's doctor—or Neil Patrick Harris' older brother, as Kurt instantly thought to call him—walked in it was gone completely.

"A word, Mr. Anderson?"

_He even sounds like Neil Patrick Harris,_ Kurt's mind unconsciously tried to grant him some temporary reprieve from all of the seriousness and sorrow surrounding him with the thought, but like the nanosecond of tranquility he had experienced with Blaine it was over too soon.

Cooper remained where he stood and raised an expectant eyebrow, urging the doctor to continue. After six long seconds—Kurt counted them in increments of '1 handsome Anderson... 2 handsome Andersons..."—he finally cleared his throat and spoke again. "The surgery appears to have gone well—"

"I'm still not even entirely sure what that surgery was for, by the way. Or what the aftercare will be like. Or any side effects," Cooper interrupted, folding his arms across his chest. Seeing Blaine in his current state must have flipped some switch in him, because Kurt couldn't recall ever seeing the usually calm and collected Cooper Anderson act so snarky in all the time they'd been spending together.

"It was all outlined in the paperwork you signed. You should have been given a copy."

"Well, I wasn't. And I can't understand any of this medical shit anyways," Cooper shot back, just barely able to keep his hysteria at bay.

"Coop," Kurt tentatively took a seat on the very edge of the bed, Blaine's hand still safely between his, "He's not the one to be mad at, okay?"

Cooper held Kurt's gaze for another three increments of "handsome Andersons" before he sighed and filled the spaces between his fingers with thick brown hair. "I'm sorry. It's just been very—"

"No need to apologise," the young doctor smiled politely. "I've heard much worse before."

In the small gap of silence that followed, Blaine—blissfully unaware of the conversation buzzing around just above his head—hummed quite loudly. The doctor cleared his throat as Cooper gave Blaine a solemn glance; all of the pent up, unspoken inadequacies he was feeling as a simple human being incapable of offering his brother any real comfort were evident in his dull pupils. "We'll be monitoring him over the next few days to try to understand the extent of the damage done. He might be very frustrated, as he may have forgotten some basic motor skills; he'll probably need help with some things for a while–bathing, using the bathroom, eating. You don't want to leave him on his own."

Kurt unconsciously gave Blaine's hand a gentle squeeze and was absolutely certain that he somehow developed an arrhythmia in the time it took the doctor to take a breath to continue.

"We're expecting that migraines may become something of a norm for him, and along with those he may experience something called vertigo. As I've said, we'll be monitoring him, but it _is_ something we that are expecting. After that, you'll most likely be able to take him home, but he'll need to come back to begin physical therapy for his knee."

"Is that all?" Cooper expelled the question with the breath he'd been holding ever since the doctor started talking.

"The police officer from earlier will probably be back again sometime soon to talk to him and he'll need to talk to a psychiatrist before he's discharged."

"Okay," Cooper stated mechanically. "Okay," he nodded and Kurt realized that Cooper was repeating the word to try to reassure himself that things would, in fact, be okay. The doctor offered them a sympathetic smile.

"If there's anything you need, any other questions that you might think to ask, don't hesitate. My name's Doctor Stoker, I should have started with that, I'm sorry—but ask for me at the reception desk and I'll come as soon as I can. We'll get through this, okay?"

"Yes," Cooper whispered and cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you."

Doctor Stoker left and Cooper crumbled completely; he combed his fingers through his hair again—frantically and erratically this time—and looked to Kurt. "I still haven't been able to get in touch with our parents. I'm worried something might have happened to them."

Kurt was silent in regards to the comment, closing his lips tight and throwing away the key. He had nothing positive to say when it came to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, so he decided to follow the old adage: _If you have nothing nice to say, then don't say anything at all._

"Whatever you guys need," Puck's head materialized through the open doorway, earning glares and gasps from both Kurt and Cooper. "I'll help however I can. Coast is clear, come on." He flipped his cell phone closed and pocketed it as he walked into the room.

"Your dad's on board too," he rushed out before either of them could get a word in and took a seat beside Kurt while Cooper walked over to the window to begin pacing back and forth. Sam, Tina and Santana marched into the room soon after.

"You talked to my dad about taking care of him?" Kurt allowed himself one quick glance at Cooper, feeling his own anxieties rack up with each quiet stride.

"I overheard him and Carole talking about it last night. After you fell asleep. Saying that if you guys still couldn't reach his parents then they can watch him at home. If Cooper's okay with it," Puck looked over at him. Cooper continued pacing, having heard nothing.

"Coop?" Kurt asked tentatively and bleary eyes turned to face him.

"Huh?"

"Did you hear what Puck said?"

"No. What did he say?" Cooper looked to the window again and began chewing on his fingernails.

"That we'll watch Blaine at our house if you need any help. If you can't reach your parents." Burt answered for him and strode in with Carole and Finn.

"Oh," Cooper appeared to be a ghost of himself, but the weight of their offer finally seemed to have made an impression. "Oh, thank you. That's—thank you. So much. I just—I need to make some arrangements so that I can stay out here longer. I appreciate your help."

"Anything we can do too," Santana chimed in, quite unlike herself; Tina and Sam nodded their eager agreement.

"I want to stay too."

Kurt felt the burn of seven pairs of eyes turn to stare at him.

"I want to stay too," he repeated and swallowed hard. "I know what that means, but I just–I can't just..."

_No NYADA audition. I'll have to take a leave of absence from Vogue–will Isabelle understand? I think she'll understand. Maybe Brody can move in and help Rachel with my half of the rent. Is that what I really want though? Am I making a mistake? _

To his right he heard a soft snore; Blaine had fallen asleep during the conversation.

_He's not going to like this. He'll argue with me, he'll try to push me away._

If there were any protestations or questions from anyone else, Kurt didn't hear them.

_But I can't just leave him. Not like this. Not now._

* * *

The next few days passed by in a blur of MRIs, cat scans, x-rays, tests, questions, tests, frustration, and more tests. Whenever they finally made it through another day, Kurt imagined giant red X's on the little boxes of his mental calendar. It had been five days since Blaine's surgery. Five long days that forced Kurt to bounce back and forth between doubt and determination in his decision to stay behind and help. Today, he was determined; Blaine's mood was pleasant and he had actually allowed Kurt to help him spoon oatmeal into his mouth for breakfast. They sat quietly, alone and together all at once, until Blaine dredged up the inevitable conversation topic.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"We've been over this, Blaine," Kurt sighed.

"Refresh my memory," he balled up a fist—a habit that Kurt noticed he had taken up since he first woke up—and unclenched it after a moment.

"You refresh mine; you know the answer, Blaine."

"You're really just going to keep pretending that everything is okay between us now? I know you, Kurt."

"If you know me so well, then you know there's no point to this conversation carrying on," he said matter-of-factly and opened up a copy of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ he'd been reading aloud to Blaine the past few days. And with that, he expected it to be over; conversations such as this one had been occurring rather frequently lately and Kurt normally squashed the life out of them before they'd even had a chance to breathe.

"I just... don't want you to regret it. Don't want you to feel obligated to do this and then—and then end up hating me for it later," Blaine spoke his way through tears coated each individual word and layers upon layers of insecurities. _How ironic_, Kurt thought, _that he's beginning to share more of himself now that we've broken up._

Kurt swallowed down the bile creeping up his throat; there had been something so natural in the way that Blaine assumed how easily hatred could be thrown his way that it twisted a series of knots deep within Kurt's stomach, leaving him feeling nauseous. "Blaine, I could never hate you." And he meant it.

"Okay," Blaine whispered and allowed his inner artist to creep through to the surface and colour him composed. "What are we up to?"

"Huh?"

"The—um, the book. What are we–"

"Oh!" Kurt flipped it open to the bookmarked page. "Dementors at the Quidditch match."

"Can we skip to Patronus lessons with Lupin?"

Kurt didn't ask questions or comment as he thumbed through the pages until he found it. He scooted his chair closer to the bed and began reading out loud. By the time he reached the end of the chapter Blaine was already asleep; he leaned over and traced a prominent vein on the back of Blaine's left hand. It was something he had done at least a hundred times by now; a simple, self-soothing habit he had developed in the early stages of their relationship whenever he needed to make sure Blaine was something tangible, something close and heavy enough to anchor him down should he start to float too high above himself on thoughts of _'why?_' Even under the title of "ex-boyfriend," Kurt couldn't stop himself from using Blaine again as that anchor.

"I'm trying so hard to stay unbiased, Blaine. I'm trying _so_ hard."

Blaine snored softly in response.

"I still love you," the words came out strangled, dying on arrival. "Sometimes I trick myself into thinking nothing happened; it's so... easy to forget when I see you like this and I know that you need me. Need us all."

Blaine's hand twitched as Kurt brushed his fingers over the same vein.

"I hope this gets easier. I hope I can forgive you," he closed the book, set it on his knee and pressed his palms into his eyes.

As Blaine snored quietly again, as he lay motionless and none-the-wiser to the whirlwind of fear and disillusion surrounding him, Kurt submitted himself to another afternoon of watching him—and the monitors he was attached to—a little too closely.

* * *

The next day started off just as the previous five had; Kurt had just begun to nestle himself into a chair when Detective Carson rapped a gentle fist upon the open door and tentatively asked, "Hey, remember me, Blaine?"

Blaine's eyes went hazy and distant for a fraction of a second, searching, before he responded. "Yes. Yes, of course. How are you?"

Kurt's heart gave a sudden jolt. _Lying in a hospital bed and still so polite—god, do I love him._

"I'm... well," he seemed taken aback by Blaine's response. "Can I come in?" He walked in after Blaine's subtle nod. "I was hoping we might be able to talk again."

"I told you everything that I remember..." Blaine planted both palms on the mattress, but Kurt leaped out of the chair and helped him sit upright before he could attempt to do it himself, earning him a half-hearted glare in the process. Detective Carson cleared his throat quietly to interrupt their little stare-down.

"Is there anything else that you can remember about them?"

"Like what?" Blaine watched Kurt until he had settled himself back into the chair beside the bed before directing his attention to the detective.

"Were they taller than you?"

"Mostly everyone I meet is taller than me," Blaine couldn't stop the overwhelming snark from contaminating his response. "I'm... sorry. I've had a few problems with—I didn't mean to say that... out loud..."

"It's alright," Detective Carson gave him an understanding smile. "So they were?" Blaine nodded. "About how much taller, would you say?"

"Maybe around Kurt's height?"

"Okay. What else?"

"I don't—I don't know," he pressed his thumb into his right temple and stretched his index and middle fingers across his forehead. "They were wearing, um—" he used both of his hands to mime putting up a hood. "Um..."

"Hooded coats?"

"Not coats—sweatshirts."

"Okay, okay, good, Blaine," Detective Carson jotted everything down into a small, leather bound notebook.

"How is that good? It's practically nothing to go on," Blaine furrowed his brows in bewilderment. Beside him, Kurt was trying his best to keep his hands to himself.

"Hooded sweatshirts in the winter, but no coats? Makes me think these were kids closer to your age."

"Rebellious teenagers?" Kurt joked, but there was no laughter or playful air to his back up his words.

"Something like that," Detective Carson smiled sympathetically and Kurt couldn't help but notice how often he smiled to try to ease the tension in the room. "Anything else, Blaine? Did you see their hair at all? Their eyes?"

"I think one of them had black hair. Or—or maybe it was brown? I–—it was so dark—I can't—"

"It's okay, it's alright. Possibly dark haired, I'll leave it at that. Can you remember if there was anything on their clothing? Sports logo? If it was an unusual colour?"

"There was... something. In the middle of all of them. Words, maybe? Or—I mean, they looked like... like the kind you wear to show school pride? I don't know why I thought of schools, I can't remember what it was exactly, but it felt like a—like a school sweatshirt," he cradled his head in both hands. "Oh, that doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"Shh," Kurt cooed softly and slid his hand over Blaine's back. "You're doing great, Blaine."

"You are. It doesn't have to make sense, just tell me anything that comes to mind. It might seem like it doesn't make sense now, but you never know—something could turn up and explain it," Detective Carson encouraged.

"I think that's everything," Blaine slowly lifted his head. "Yeah, I think that's it."

"Okay, Blaine. I'm going to do everything I can to catch these guys, understand? I refuse to let them get away with this."

Blaine nodded his acknowledgment of the statement, but showed no other emotion past basic understanding. He'd gone from polite to virtually robotic in his persona, something that deeply worried Kurt as he witness the gradual transition.

"They tell me you might get out of here today?" Detective Carson slid the small notebook into his coat pocket.

"Yeah," Kurt replied when Blaine didn't.

"That's great news. You must be excited to head home." Small talk. They had arrived at small talk.

"Uh, yeah," Blaine replied hesitantly, his words tangible and close but his mind could not have been farther away. "I'm—yeah..."

Detective Carson looked to Kurt uneasily, who responded with furrowed brows and sad eyes shimmering dimly under the unflattering fluorescent lighting. "Is it okay if I leave my card for you, Blaine?"

But Blaine had mentally checked out for the remainder of the conversation. He seemed to have developed a particularly strong interest in the wall to his right and kept his fists balled up tightly, clenching sections of the bed sheet between them. Kurt extended his hand for the card and thanked the detective; they exchanged one more mutual look of disquietude and then Detective Carson was out the door.

"What home?" Blaine suddenly mumbled, almost inaudibly.

Kurt crammed the card into his pocket and worked his fingers into the backs of Blaine's hands, trying to ease him into loosening his grip on the sheet. He knew he should say something to reassure Blaine, something along the lines of, _'Your home with me and my family, of course,' _or anything at all, but he remained quiet. An uncertain promise was the same as an empty one, in his opinion, and he couldn't bring himself to guarantee comfort for Blaine when he didn't know if it was something he—or anyone—could actually offer. The future, distant and near, was so unbearably unclear for them and in that moment Kurt would have given anything to be able to bless Blaine with just one certainty; one thing for him to be able to cling to and know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, to be undeniably true. But he couldn't. And so unbearable silence overtook the unbearable uncertainty and they were left to feel irreparably broken once again.

When Kurt didn't reply Blaine simply believed he hadn't actually expressed his sentiment aloud—the silence had betrayed and misled him. And as the muscles in his hands were forced to submit themselves to Kurt's superior, skilled fingers Blaine carried on in hurried, breathy whispers, not once questioning whether or not his thoughts belonged only to him. "Nobody's there, no one that cares; I'm going to be by myself if they send me home. I can't do this, I can't fucking do this. What am I going to do? They're going to leave me all alone?"

Kurt became paralyzed as he listened; his motionless hands still covered Blaine's.

"I can't be alone with these thoughts again. What's going to happen?"

"Blaine?" Kurt's scratchy voice soared along a sharp whisper, slicing through Blaine's panic and permeating the air around them. In return, two miniature galaxies—perfect replicas both in colour and the unfathomable secrets they held—aligned themselves up with the endless oceans that were Kurt's eyes. "You're not alone."

* * *

**Blainey, you're not alone! Cause you're here with us! And we Klainers won't ever let this ship go down!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: You guys are the best. Thanks for all of the feedback and all of your love. Hope you enjoy this one. More to come very soon.**

* * *

Another gentle rapping against the door interrupted their intimacy. Blaine made no effort to avert his eyes to the entryway; whoever it was that requested his attention would just have to wait because right now the only thing rushing through his jumbled mess of a brain was,_'Oh god, how much of that did he hear?'_ It was enough to elicit a solemn tear at first and then his anxieties kicked in at full steam ahead, demanding waterworks to accompany the series of fireworks exploding spontaneously across the scarred terrain that he could just barely refer to anymore as his "head." Kurt held his gaze, with glassy eyes that appeared to have aged far beyond his years, for a few more seconds until the sound of someone clearing his or her throat had made him falter. Kurt swallowed thickly and still felt an insoluble lump at the back of his throat; he looked towards the door to see a lanky, very tall—possibly 6' tall, to be precise—pale woman with emerald cat-like eyes shining brightly behind a pair of oversized, thick, black rimmed, plastic framed glasses. Her entire appearance screamed, _"Psychiatrist! I'm a psychiatrist!"_ as loudly as it possibly could; Blaine and Kurt received the message with absolutely no chance of miscommunication. She gave them both a gentle smile—with thin lips coated in a red far too intense for her complexion, Kurt thought—and introduced herself as Doctor MacManus; her name was irrelevant to Blaine, he knew exactly what she was and what it was that she wanted—what use was a name to him when this was surely going to be a one time thing, a formality before he was cleared to go home.

"Stupid," he thought aloud. "So stupid."

"Blaine," Kurt reprimanded him with quiet concern, but he knew it wasn't actually Blaine's fault.

"Stupid," Blaine repeated for good measure. "Do we really have to do this? I'm fine."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem and we'll be finished in no time," she walked in, clutching a wooden clipboard to her flat chest. "Kurt, right?" She turned to Kurt as his expression took sharp turn towards incredulous in response to Blaine's brunt attitude.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Would you mind stepping out for a few minutes while I talk to Blaine?" She asked with a sort of feigned politeness that Kurt picked up on immediately, but there was nothing he could do. He took Blaine's right hand into his own and rubbed the back of it with his thumb before looking at Doctor MacManus. The emeralds seemed to have been serpents in disguise, and they slithered maliciously before him now, flicking their tongues and revealing poisonous fangs.

"Um," Kurt said quietly and looked to Blaine. "Uh yeah, of course."

Blaine's eyebrows drooped sadly; every time they thought they would get more than a few minutes with each other someone else kept coming along to squelch the possibility. Doctors, friends, police officers, nurses... and now this. Kurt furrowed his own eyebrows and pressed his thumb into the back of Blaine's hand again. "I'll see you soon, okay? You're almost out of here, it'll get better from here on out."

"Will it?" Blaine had meant to keep the question to himself. _'What the hell is wrong with me? Did I say that out loud? Am I saying this aloud right now? He isn't looking at me like I am.'_

Kurt gave him a weary smile. "Of course it will." He leaned over and carefully wrapped his arms around Blaine, intending to keep the hug brief and gentle—Blaine, on the other hand, had other plans; he drew Kurt in close, gritting his teeth past the pain, and gave his best effort in tightly securing him there. He wasn't trying to keep Kurt there as if it would deter Doctor MacManus from picking apart his brain until later; the proximity between them—or rather, lack thereof—made his actions almost involuntary. He just needed Kurt there, needed to feel at home for however long he could before he was going to have to be subjected to this woman's interrogation. When Kurt's body went limp at first, Blaine feared he may have taken things a step too far, may have just pushed Kurt a little too much with this.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed into his ear. "I don't want to—"

And as Blaine started to let his own limbs become lifeless... "I can't see where you're bruised—I don't want to hurt you," Kurt rushed out in a hurried whisper upon noticing Blaine's disappointment.

"It's okay," Blaine closed his eyes and put his last surge of strength into squeezing Kurt tightly again, heart aflutter with a tamed hope. "See you soon."

Kurt nodded and straightened up, casting daggers at Doctor MacManus that only conveyed one clear meaning: _I swear to god, if you upset him you'll have to deal with me._ She smiled politely again, tight-lipped and so vomit-inducingly fake that Kurt would have preferred it if Coach Sylvester—a master herself in the art of feigned kindness—had a degree in psychology and was the one analyzing Blaine; while the same dangerous snakes appeared in her eyes as well, at least Sue Sylvester had had lapses of true human emotion. Either Kurt was being paranoid now or he really had seen the devil in this woman's eyes; leaving Blaine alone with her was the absolute last thing that he wanted to do, but he kept reminding himself, _'One more hurdle. After this we can take him home. After this things will start to look up again.'_ He smiled reassuringly at Blaine once more and then he was out the door on his way back to the waiting room where a solitary soul awaited him.

Sam was currently in school, as was Tina, Britney and the rest of Blaine's friends; Kurt's parents were more than likely at work; Finn was still filling in for Mr. Schuester at McKinley as fearless leader of Glee club; and Cooper had decided to pay a visit to his old residence, having volunteered to gather some of Blaine's things to bring over to the Hummel residence; Puck... Kurt wasn't entirely sure where Puck may have disappeared to; which left Santana Lopez—dressed to the nines, compared to the state of the other inhabitants surrounding her, in skintight blue denim jeans, a cream-coloured camisole, and a silver-studded leather jacket—sitting before him, her legs crossed and a nervous, but genuine, half-smile screwed onto her face. Her presence was actually a breath of fresh air for Kurt; at least she would let him rant and rave all he wanted about Doctor MacManus.

"How long have you been sitting out here?" He took a seat beside her and buried his hands within the front pocket of one of his old pullover hoodies, one that he hadn't worn since he left for New York.

"I lost track; long enough to snoop through five different patients' rooms without anyone noticing and to steal a lab coat from one of the doctor's lockers."

Kurt blinked slowly, not really certain if she was being serious or not, but the flaw in his logic was realised rather quickly—it was Santana, of course she was being serious. As if he was reciting his thoughts aloud like Blaine, Santana—noting his initial doubt—pulled out some of the white fabric from her bag for Kurt to see. It was definitely a lab coat. She stuffed it back in and shrugged, "I had to do something to keep myself occupied while you and hobbit kissed and made up."

"We didn't," Kurt stated flatly and she shrugged again.

"Not yet, huh?"

"Not yet," he repeated quietly.

"From what Britney's told me he's been beating himself up ever since this whole mess started," she stretched her legs out in front of herself and tapped her heels against the floor a few times.

"And it took someone else beating him up for me to come see him and decide to give him a chance to explain," Kurt continued in the same flat tone of voice. "I don't really know how I feel about... anything involving _that_ right now. I don't really want to talk about it, Santana. I just want to focus on his recov—"

"Bullshit," she tapped her heels against the floor again and repeated the word slowly, in time with each loud _click!_ "Bull-Shit. You're trying to numb yourself out and pretend you don't know how to feel about it. Because it's easier than realizing, 'Maybe he isn't the only one who fucked up in this relationship.' It's a goddamn copout, Hummel. And you know it."

"As much as I would love to hear you go on and on about my shortcomings—" Kurt began with over-the-top flair and feigned appreciation for her pointing them out. "Oh wait, that's right— I fucking wouldn't. So, can you please just... stop? Just... not now, Santana. Not right now. I'm stressed as it is with everything else. The last thing I need is—"

"I think this is the first thing you need," she interrupted and sat up so abruptly that her back cracked loudly in the process. This didn't seem to faze her at all though. "I know you're living with Berry now, but that's no excuse for letting her rub off on you."

"Excuse me?" Kurt blinked and replied breathlessly. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"Saint Berry, who thinks she can do no wrong. Has she been telling you to just move on and forget about him too?"

"I am not like Rachel—"

"Do you think you did anything wrong in your relationship?" She folded her arms over her chest.

"No," Kurt said, unable to keep his moodiness from infecting his reply. "Yeah, things were hard for us, but I never cheated on him."

"I didn't ask you if you cheated on him, Kurt," she shook her head, disappointed.

_'As if she has any right to be disappointed in me,'_ Kurt thought bitterly and gritted his teeth.

"I asked you if you think you did anything wrong—at any point—in your relationship."

_'Ignored some of his calls and texts.'_ Kurt bit his lip; when he thought about how guilty the action must have been making him seem he quickly corrected himself and jutted his lower lip out again. _'I didn't really listen when he wanted to talk about how hard a long distance relationship was going to be. I just brushed off things that I didn't want to talk about. I put my work first a few times. Missed a few Skype dates...'_ He cleared his throat quietly and stared directly at her face, "I said no."

She shook her head again and he couldn't take it anymore. "What the fuck? Don't give me that look. Why are you even here? You don't care about anyone—you can't care about anyone—so what the hell is this even about?"

"You guys are my friends," she replied simply, as though she had anticipated exactly what Kurt's reaction was going to be and none of it surprised her in the slightest. "And my family."

"Since... when?" Kurt was starting to get plain angry at this point; tragedy really did seem to bring out the "best" in people, with their sudden concerns and claims to having cared all along. All of it made him sick.

"I have a fucked up way of caring about people, I know. I don't need to explain it. I really do... you know... love you two. Even Berry and all of the other dweebs—you repeat any of this to anyone though and I'll—"

"Yeah, I know," Kurt rolled his eyes, still doubtful.

"I know you don't believe that you didn't screw up too, you're not that naïve or stupid. I'm not trying to say it's more your fault or more his—but you have to take a step back and realise he must have been in a pretty bad place to do what he did. I know that pretty much every single one of us has cheated or been cheated on, but you two were different, you know?"

"Maybe it's Glee club that corrupted him then," Kurt snorted, trying to find some miniscule form of humour to lighten the discussion.

"Yeah, maybe," she laughed lightly and looked at her knees. There was something vulnerable and unrecognisable in the way she presented herself, something that raised too many questions in Kurt's already crowded mind. She rested her palms on the chair and slid her hands under her thighs. "He's not the same anymore, Kurt. From what everyone tells me. And I'm not saying it's up to you to piece him back together, or whatever, but something's going on with him. Britney says no one else has really noticed it though—"

"Yeah well, I mean, it's Britney. She has a tendency to say..." Santana lifted her head and gave him a warning look. "Some pretty weird things out of the blue."

"She knows about these sort of things, Kurt. It's like her superpower. Think what you will of her, but she can tell when people are hurting. And she's noticed it from way before Blaine stuck his dick in someone else's—"

"I think I'm starting to get an idea of what it is, to be honest." He cut her off before he had to hear the rest and she tilted her head quizzically. Kurt took it as his cue to continue. "Well," he rubbed the back of his neck, "His parents haven't shown up yet. Not once. He never really spoke about them much and I've really only ever seen them maybe once or twice, I think he's just been miserable at home. And probably really lonely since I left, we used to hang out all the time but he was always out of the house."

"I figured he was 'Mr. Perfect' to mom and dad just like he is at school," she seemed very taken aback by Kurt's information. He shrugged nonchalantly, trying to quell the anger he was always beginning to feel whenever anyone mentioned them nowadays. "So, you're not just going to jerk him around and fuck with his head, are you?"

"Jesus, Santana," Kurt's voice rose about three octaves, attracting the attention of an elderly woman across the room.

"Lack of tact, yeah, I know what you're going to say," Santana carried on while Kurt gave his best apologetic expression to the woman. "But like I said, I care about both of you—I don't want to see him hurting and I don't want to see you hurting either. So if you're doing this because you feel guilty, because you think you need to... don't. You won't be doing him or any of us any favours."

"I had no idea it was about the rest of you too," Kurt said coolly. "I'm here as his friend, okay? That's it. Not as his ex, not as his boyfriend—his friend. So I'd appreciate it if you kept your nose out of our business, because even if we were getting back together that's between me and Blaine. It doesn't involve you, or Britney, or my parents or anyone else. Christ," he exhaled angrily. "Why the hell are we the goddamn poster couple for everyone?"

At that, Santana smiled—pathetic and smug all at once—and stretched her legs out in front of her again. "You just don't get it, lady Hummel."

"Get what?" he clenched his teeth, extremely annoyed with how she acted like she knew everything about them. Rather than answer she started whistling the first verse of Come What May; Kurt's heart sank straight to his stomach and they spent the remainder of their time together without uttering a single word.

* * *

"So, Blaine," Doctor MacManus took a seat beside the bed and rested the clipboard on her knee. Blaine let his eyes linger on the array of black and white that he could see before tilting his head back slightly to look at her. "From what I understand, this isn't the first time that you've been attacked."

"No," he breathed out quietly and even the solitary word sounded achy and old.

"I'd like to talk about that," she touched the end of her pen to her lips and thoughtfully studied the information before her.

"No," Blaine repeated.

"Then let's talk about this attack," she kept her eyes on the paper.

"I don't want to talk about any of them. I don't want to be here anymore," he said, stubbornly.

"Don't want to be here anymore?" she asked with such feigned, sweet innocence that piranhas stirred wildly in Blaine's belly and began wildly snapping their teeth into every inch of his stomach lining.

"You're twisting my words—"

"So you aren't, nor have you ever felt, suicidal?" She lowered the pen and watched him with challenging eyes, begging him to say no, _hoping_ he was going to try to contradict her.

"No," Blaine fell into her trap anyways.

"I have a note here in your file about a drug overdose when you were..." she flipped the page with such sadistic satisfaction; she knew exactly what it said without needing to reference it, this was almost like a cruel game for her to play. "Fourteen."

_"Blainey, I was going to head to the mall, do you want to take a ride with me?"_

"I..." Blaine whispered.

"And your brother found you?" She continued, replacing the pen cap to her lips.

_"Blainey? Are you in—Blaine? Blaine! Oh god, wake up. What did you do? Blaine, what did you do...?"_

Blaine closed his eyes and tried to squelch the memory. He had just transferred to Dalton, but nothing had really changed: the bullying, the teasing, the cliques and cruelty—it was all the same. Cooper had flown home to visit directly after the Sadie Hawkins incident had occurred and kept coming up with excuses to stick around for _"Just a little longer."_ It had been a particularly rough day for Blaine about a two weeks after he had started at Dalton and before he knew it he was in his bedroom after school with a handful of his mother's Xanex travelling down his throat; if Cooper hadn't still been home...

He gulped loudly and shook his head, keeping his eyes closed. "Look," he said softly, "I'm angry, but I'm not going to kill myself."

"Go on," she encouraged when he stopped talking. "You need my seal of approval before you can leave, Blaine. I suggest you work with me."

Her voice was suddenly gentle and, for the first time since she had entered the room, Blaine considered the fact that he and Kurt may have demonized her before actually giving her a real chance. It was as if they had imagined all of that maliciousness in the first place. She sounded genuine and when he opened his eyes there was a sort of tranquility evaporating off her skin that spread like a cancer throughout the room.

"That was—it was a mistake," Blaine resigned to her suggestion. "I didn't mean—I want to be alive."

"We'll start with that then, Blaine."

* * *

As Santana continued to tap her heels against the linoleum—while Kurt's eyebrows twitched with annoyance—Puck finally made his grand re-entrance into the waiting room, shouldering a hard-shell guitar case. Both of them watched as he walked over, grinning ear-to-ear, and placed a hand on his hip.

"What's going on? Where is everyone?"

"Dunno," Kurt answered and looked at Santana, wondering if she had run into anyone while she was waiting.

"Most of them are at school. Dunno about Kurt's parents, and I think Blaine's brother stopped by their house to pick up some stuff."

"What are you guys doing out here?" Puck asked and Kurt could already see permanent worry lines starting to form in his forehead.

"He's talking to a psychiatrist and then we find out if he can go home or not," Kurt answered and crossed his legs underneath himself, squirming around in the hard, plastic chair.

Santana nodded towards Puck's guitar questioningly before he could react to Kurt's news. "What's with the guitar?"

"Oh," he said with a hint of surprise, as though just realizing he was lugging around a very heavy guitar case. "Well, Blaine plays sometimes, doesn't he? I thought it might help. Plus it's easier than trying to get a keyboard in here."

The gesture was definitely beyond sweet, but it caused something rotten to settle in Kurt's stomach as a thought danced crossed his mind: _'Why didn't I think of something like that?'_

"Hey, maybe we should get everyone down here to come sing for him," Santana suggested and Kurt immediately shook his head. He knew Blaine well enough to know that the more people present to stare at him in his state of vulnerability the more miserable he would become.

"I think we should wait until he's out of here to do that. He's most likely getting out today anyways, but I don't think he's going to want a crowd of people seeing him in the shape he's in right now. Might make him feel really... embarrassed, you know?" Kurt explained.

"That makes sense, I guess," Puck agreed and set the guitar on the ground before taking a seat beside Kurt. "So what's he got to talk to a shrink for anyways?"

Though Kurt shrugged his shoulders and feigned obliviousness, he knew why; she would want to talk to him about the repeat attack, about the sexual assault, about his family, about all of the little things that set Blaine off behind closed doors and away from prying eyes. And maybe she would get a glimpse at that anger that still tormented Blaine underneath a practiced smile, or maybe he would be aware enough to conceal it the way he always had—Kurt didn't have a clue what was going to come of their meeting. It seemed easier to breach the wall that Blaine had surrounded himself with, once fortified and resilient but now flimsy and dilapidated to the point of no repair. Before this, Kurt believed he had been given access to Blaine's vulnerability before, but not like this; the more that details involving this recent attack came to light, the more he watched the life skitter away from Blaine's once animated eyes.

How could Puck and Santana understand? How could anyone? Even Kurt had to admit that he couldn't identify with Blaine's pain, as much as he wanted to heal the wounds and make the scars disintegrate. The thought of having to say goodbye to the Blaine Anderson he once knew is what made Kurt feel like his heart was trapped between a vice, tightening itself around it still—despite his screams and pleas—and injecting fear straight into his aorta. Even the Blaine that had cheated on him, Kurt could remotely recognise. Kurt didn't want to lose him, any of him: the good, the bad, the lover, the deceiver, the performer, the best friend, the fighter, the leader, the pleaser—Kurt was beginning to realise that he still wanted them. All of them. Despite the heartache that some of them had brought, they all were what created the man he was still very much in love with.

"How long have you two been waiting?"

"About an hour and a half?" Santana guessed.

"What does it matter?" Kurt finally left his thoughts to join their conversation. "God, I am just so sick of waiting around like this."

"We _could_ just crash their little therapy session, you know," Santana suggested and shrugged nonchalantly.

"I don't want to do anything to jeopardize his getting out sooner," Kurt groaned. "I just..." He groaned again and leaned his head back, throwing his arm across his eyes.

"Me too," Puck lamented in agreement.

They spent the next thirty minutes or so listening to Puck pluck out soothing melodies on his guitar until more and more people began to show up. First it was Finn and the rest of the Glee club, followed by Burt, Carole, and Cooper about twenty minutes after. Even Trent, Nick, Jeff and Sebastian had made an appearance once they had heard the news that today was potentially the day of Blaine's release. Kurt stood off to the side and watched the strange ensemble of friends, all of whom were here for Blaine in ways that he probably did not even fully realize, with a mixture between wonderment and disbelief. Eventually Burt, Carole and Cooper approached him.

"Hey, kiddo. Hanging in there?" Burt patted Kurt's shoulder gently.

"Yeah. Were you two at work?" Kurt tore his eyes away from Sebastian and Puck—chatting like they were the oldest of friends—and looked up at his father.

"No. Actually," Burt began but Carole rushed to finish for him.

"We were putting together the guest room for Blaine and Cooper to use."

"I talked to my roommate back in Cali," Cooper continued. "He's going to be sending some of my things over so I don't have to fly back and forth."

In another moment of surrealism, Kurt felt himself begin to hover above his own body and wondered how on earth this could possibly be his life.

"Kurt?" Burt rubbed Kurt's shoulder reassuringly. "Are you alright?"

"Dad, I'm so scared," Kurt redirected his gaze to the assortment of Blaine's visitors and whispered, unwilling to hide behind a mask of strength.

"He's surrounded by people who love him," Burt replied quietly with softened eyes. "That's all we can really offer right now."

"I just hope it's enough, you know?" Kurt pulled his shirtsleeve over his hand and touched it to his watering eyes. "I just really hope it's enough."

* * *

**Please review if you liked what you've read. Blaine and Cooper at the Hummel residence... Well, I can't wait to see how this plays out, can you? And don't forget, you can also send me comments, prompts and questions in my askbox on my tumblr page: syntheticpoetry (d) tumblr (d) com**

**Obviously you'll need to replace (d) with actual . though**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Well, after dealing with an issue concerning someone who had plagiarised some of this story I'm back. This chapter has been split and I'll be posting up the next half soon, after some tweaking. You'll all be able to guess what the next chapter will focus mainly about, but I'll leave a note at the end anyways. **

**Thanks to everyone who has been keeping up with this story, who has defended it (and me!) and to the newcomers. Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Kurt wasn't sure how long he had spent in his father's arms—ignoring the worried glances of everyone else across the room—before his cell phone started ringing. He was tempted to just leave it be; let it go to voicemail and pretend he couldn't reach it in time. But he recognised whose ringtone it was, and he knew that there would be no chance of just letting it go to voicemail and not having to worry about it because the caller would keep ringing him up until he would finally have to cave in and answer. He had stopped crying a while ago, but that did nothing to deter him from dabbing his eyes with his sleeve before peeling himself away from Burt's warmth and digging his phone out of his pocket. He managed to answer just before the last ring.

"Hey, Rachel," he held a hand up in response to Burt's perplexed expression to signify that everything was fine. Burt relaxed—only slightly—and Kurt caught a glimpse of his father and Carole's hands intertwining their fingers together as he took a few steps away from prying ears to continue his conversation. "How are you?"

"Finn's been keeping me updated."

_So much for small talk. And when did they start talking to each other again? _Kurt thought as he waited for her to continue. When she didn't though, he couldn't stop himself from blurting out his thoughts.

"I still feel like I'm hallucinating the entire thing," he said quietly, letting his eyes become unfocused in the direction of Tina and Sam. "It's just so... I don't know," he sighed.

"Surreal. I think you covered it with your hallucination thing. I hate being so far away right now," Kurt could envision the pout on her lips as she spoke. Her confession crept in slowly and it took him a few seconds, her words repeating themselves louder and louder in his head, before the weight of what she said finally nestled itself comfortably on his brain.

_Did I really not notice she flew back to New York? Have I been that out of it?_

"Okay, so... don't hate me, but..." He chewed on his lip. "When did you head back?"

"Oh, Kurt," she said sadly, each syllable dripping with pathetic sympathy. "A few days ago, I thought I told you."

_I'm sure that you did tell me... I just wasn't listening._

"Uh, I think I remember. Vaguely. So, um..." They had finally arrived at small talk, but only for the swiftest fraction of a second because any conversation with Rachel meant she would always fill whatever gaps of silence appeared.

"I hear he might be getting released today."

"Yeah. It'll be good for him to get out of here finally," Kurt furrowed his brows as Sebastian gave Tina a hug and then proceeded to talk to Santana. "What else have you heard?"

"That you might not be coming back," she stated boldly with a hint of _I-hope-I-heard-wrong_ in her voice.

"That's what they're saying, huh?" Kurt felt himself begin to hover above everything again. "I was thinking of sticking around a little longer. Help him get back on his feet."

"What about school?"

"I don't go to school, remember?" The bitterness in his words had been completely unintentional, but there it was. Though he had convinced himself that he had come to terms with Rachel getting into NYADA while he hadn't, the scar still ripped itself open from time to time, leaving a gaping hole of _'why her and not me?'_

"But your audition—"

"Rachel, she's not going to give me another shot. She thinks that I... lack depth, or... whatever," the recollection of Carmen Tibideaux's words stung just as much as Rachel's subtle reminders of her student status. And by "subtle" what he really meant was that it was all she ever talked about these days: NYADA and Brody.

"That's ridiculous," Rachel exclaimed. "She actually said that?"

"I don't want to go into it right now."

"Well, what about work?"

"I'll talk to Isabelle. She'll understand," Kurt stretched his thumb and index finger across his forehead and rubbed small circles into pained skin.

"Kurt, you can't just... drop everything in your life to—"

"Rachel, this is important, okay? As my roommate, as my friend, can't you just accept that? Even if you don't understand it. I'm just really—I don't want to have to explain every single decision I make to everyone," he fought to keep his voice low and controlled. She was right in her questioning, of course, but that didn't mean he wanted to devote the time to construct an explanation. Truth be told, he still wasn't entirely sure why he had decided to stay—Blaine was in more than capable hands. Part of him really did want to just help Blaine, but another part lingered on the promise he had made to Blaine the first night in the hospital.

_'Wake up so we can talk about what happened, I'll listen to everything you have to say.'_

Even if he wanted to, Kurt just _couldn't_ leave. Not without giving Blaine that chance to explain himself.

"Fine," she resigned in a scratchy, defeated tone. "Fine, Kurt." After a moment of silence had passed. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

"Everyone's been taking their turn fussing over me. I'm okay. How are things between you and Brody?"

"Do you really want to discuss my and Brody's relationship?"

"So you guys _are_ dating?" Kurt smirked as the framed image of her annoyance hung itself perfectly behind his closed eyelids.

"It's... complicated. What was that spiel about not owing anyone an explanation? I'm stealing that from you and invoking it now."

"Okay, okay," Kurt laughed lightly, knowing he would have to bring the conversation way, way down to something serious again. "I'm not going to really be able to help you out with the rent for a little while. I don't know how long."

"Is that why you're asking about Brody?"

"Well, I mean, if you trust him and he agrees to it, maybe he can temporarily move in and help you out. You know... temporarily though. Just until I get back," he reiterated a few times, making sure she understood that there was no way in hell he wanted Brody to move in permanently.

"I'll talk to him about it. He spends a lot of time here as it is anyways."

_'Yeah, I've noticed. So have all of my vintage flea market chairs.'_

"I'm sure we can work something out," she continued.

"Rachel's looking for a roommate?" Santana sounded off to Kurt's left and his heart nearly tore itself through his chest to take off running at full speed ahead.

"Fuck!" Kurt yelled loudly, attracting the attention of every single person in the waiting room. "You scared me," he hissed in a rushed whisper, momentarily forgetting that Rachel was still on the line.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Her frantic voice reached his ears as Santana's mischievous grin finally caught up with the rest of her.

"Nothing. It was just Santana—" She snatched the phone away from Kurt and he fought back an urge to screech at her—no words, just unfiltered noises to express his frustration.

"Give it to me," he held out his hand. Santana glanced at his open palm before redirecting her gaze upwards in a very dramatic rolling of her eyes.

"I just want to talk to Berry for a second." And with that, she walked away. Kurt curled his fingers into his palm, digging little crescent moons into the tender skin, and imagined Santana's head where there was nothing but air and his own flesh. Burt glanced between Kurt and Santana a few times as he walked over to him before he jutted out his thumb in her direction with eyebrows drooped in silent question. "She stole my phone."

Burt opened his mouth, making an _Ah!_ face, but no sound came forth. Kurt nodded, having nothing else of real substance to add, and looked down at his fist where he reached a sudden epiphany as he stared at the little cuts he didn't remember making.

_'Is that why Blaine keeps doing that? Is he just angry all of the time? Frustrated? Does he even realize he's doing it?'_

"Do you think I'm making a mistake?" Kurt asked suddenly. "By staying here?"

"I... think you're doing what you feel you need to," Burt answered carefully. "I love you and I'm always going to stand by any decision you make."

"Even if you don't agree with it," Kurt continued.

"It's not that I don't agree with it, I just don't want you to think that you have to stay. That everyone expects you to," Burt gently curled his fingers around Kurt's right shoulder. "We all know you guys have broken up, and I think pretty much everyone knows why at this point. You don't have to stay to show him that you still care, but I do think it might help him. Considering the history you've had, with each other and with past experiences involving... you know, things like this." It pained him to have to admit the words; any time he thought of the torment Kurt had been subjected to by Karofsky or Blaine's nervous confession about his own abuse from years past his heart tore itself to shreds just as soon as it was nearly finished taping itself back together again.

"But, dad, I can't just... leave," Kurt's voice cracked slightly on the last word. "You know?"

"Then do what you need to, kiddo. None of us are here to judge you either way." Kurt nodded his reply and Burt swallowed before quietly continuing. "You aren't... you know, mad or... upset with us, are you? For taking him in like this."

"No, no—of course not—no," Kurt sent his words crashing over his father's, both of them trying to talk over the other.

"I'm on your side, one hundred percent, but I couldn't just—"

"No, I know, dad," Kurt placed his hand on Burt's arm. "I know. I," he let out a breathy laugh. "I get it, I really do. It's... the whole thing is just so damn complicated."

Burt gave him a weary smile—one he reserved for father-son moments such as these—and a gentle pat on the back. Santana waltzed back over to them, bobcat grin in place, and held Kurt's phone out to him. "What are you so happy about?" He eyed her suspiciously as he grabbed the phone and noticed that Rachel was still on the line so he held it back up to his ear. "Hey, Rach?"

"Did she tell you?" Rachel asked immediately.

"Tell me what?"

"I'm moving in," Santana beamed.

"What about—"

"I dropped out," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Plus, I've wanted to get back to New York. It's perfect, don't you think? I'll help out with the rent while you're gone, I'm not some strange—"

"Debatable," Kurt interjected, earning him a glare. "Okay, okay—yes. Great. One less thing for me to worry about. Listen, Rachel, I have to go. I need to call Isabelle and explain what's going on."

"Okay," she said. "I love you, Kurt Hummel. Promise you'll call me later?"

"I'll do my best," he rubbed his forehead with impatient fingers and waited for her to be the first one to disconnect before turning to Santana. "We'll go over the rules about this later."

Santana rolled her eyes and made her way back to Tina and Sebastian while Kurt continued to massage his forehead, each tiny circular motion only adding to the tornado currently overtaking his stomach. He would worry about Santana and Rachel killing each other later—now wasn't the time. Burt's steady hand grounded him once again and he dropped his own, leaving his forehead tingling with the ghost imprint of his own fingertips.

"I'll be over by Carole and Cooper while you talk to Isabelle, okay?"

Kurt nodded twice—slow and thoughtful—and it was only when Burt turned to walk away that he remembered what he wanted to ask. "Whose idea was it?"

Burt offered another tired smile and suddenly all of the years of wisdom and struggle and love and hardship and life became evident on his face.

"You know what?" Kurt continued before Burt could answer. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Thank you both."

Burt patted Kurt's shoulder gently again before traveling across the room to sit between Carole and Cooper. Kurt watched the three of them and realized that this whole incident was the catalyst behind his father and Carole finally meeting Cooper. Under different circumstances, Kurt could easily imagine them all together, maybe at a summer barbecue or something simple and mundane— just one big happy family: Cooper entertaining them with exaggerated stories about all of the unique people he had met in California while everyone sat around an outdoor fire roasting marshmallows for s'mores; Carole doting on everyone, making sure there were enough blankets to go around and that no belly was empty; Burt laughing heartily at all of Cooper's impressions, a twinkle in his eye as he breathed in the familiar scene of "loving family" that he once feared might never feel complete again; as for himself... Kurt closed his eyes to visions and memories—blurring together as one big cluster of "not-so-distant-past/potential future"—that all involved one particular boy with starry eyes and a grin as untamed as his unruly curls. A tranquil breeze blew through his chest cavity—the aftermath of the storm; hope on the horizon. And as he searched his phone for Isabelle's number, Kurt's brain cursed his heart for already being so willing to forgive and forget.

_'Logical. Be logical about this.' _

"Kurt! I'm so happy to hear from you!" Isabelle's bubbly disposition sent Kurt's pleading mind straight to the corner—huffing and grumbling in time-out—while his heart remained planted, boasting its perceived victory.

"Hey, Isabelle. I'm sorry I haven't called in awhile," Kurt smiled lightly despite her inability to see so.

"That's okay—so..." She trailed off, hesitant and patient.

"There's a good chance he's being released today," Kurt allowed the subtle smile to permeate his words, adding just the right touch of brightness that they needed to convey the answer to her unasked question: _yes, I'm doing alright, I promise_.

"Oh, Kurt, that's wonderful news. So he's doing okay?"

"Um... 'Okay' might be a relative term," he replied, unhinging some of the brightness and replacing it with a small grey cloud. Nevertheless, both of them knew how quickly the rain and thunder could come, even at the hands of such a seemingly harmless, tiny cloud.

"Feel like divulging any more information?" She asked politely, willing to give him however long he needed to offer any sort of explanation.

"Can I send you an email later? It's—there's quite a bit. The shortened version being that he had brain surgery and he's just generally going to need a lot of help through recovery," Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose to try to persuade an oncoming headache to take a wrong turn and leave him be. "Which... sort of brings me to what I wanted to discuss with you..."

"Take all the time you need over there, Kurt," she announced before he could even begin to ask.

"I can work from home if you email me, I'll do what I can—"

"Focus on your friend and yourself right now, Kurt," she spoke softly, almost with the same wisdom that Kurt had seen on his father's face only moments ago. "And who knows? I might just be passing through while I'm visiting home."

"God, do I love and miss you," Kurt exhaled his relief for her understanding with a smile.

"And we're all missing you here. Take care, sweetie. Remember what I told you—"

"I know, I know," he smiled just a little bit wider. "And I've been blinking at stars for days now."

"I admit that I might have taken a few trips out to some beaches on Long Island to do the same for you," she laughed airily. "Hang in there, Kurt."

"Thanks, Isabelle."

They said their goodbyes and disconnected, Kurt's heart still claiming domination over his senses while his brain recovered in the corner of the ring. Her presence in his life had become something of a blessing, and he realized it during moments such as these. He crammed his phone back into his pocket and walked over to Burt, Carole, and Cooper; they each looked up at him with the same worn out faces and fragile concern. He couldn't bring himself to sit down though, and so he paced a line the length of their three chairs and tried to keep from vibrating out of his own skin as they all, impatiently, waited.

* * *

After another hour, Doctor Sayers approached them with what Kurt immediately thought was a premature smile. It took a moment for logic to catch up to his cynicism and he pieced together the possibility behind that smile: _we can take him home._ Cooper got to his feet before she was even within earshot; nobody spoke—no one needed to—and she simply nodded, once, in response to the silent question that was bubbling over in everyone's minds. That was all it took. Cooper shoved his hand into Kurt's—the second Anderson to blatantly do so—and began to breeze past her; she made no motion to stop him. Burt and Carole were still seated, they could relay whatever information Doctor Sayers had for them later on. There was no time for anyone to consider words like "rude" and "dramatic" as Kurt and Cooper left everyone behind a set of swinging double doors to find their own way to Blaine's room. A steady air of confusion spread like wildfire throughout the waiting room before Sam hesitantly looked to Puck and Santana, both of whom returned his perplexed expression with eyebrows furrowed in determination. It didn't take long before the lot of them set out after Cooper and Kurt, a neat line of misfits magically brought together by the skinny, curly haired boy laying in a hospital bed. None of the staff even considered trying to stop them all, though some simply stopped to stare, like they had never witnessed such a sight before, before going on about their business again. They passed through the hall—mostly silent, save for a few straggling murmurs—until Sam, leader of their expedition, spotted Kurt and Cooper pushing open a door together.

Beyond the door Doctor MacManus was nowhere to be found and Blaine lay, no worse for wear, with the same exhausted expression he hadn't been able to wipe off of his face since he'd woken from his coma thirteen days ago. On the chart at the end of his bed Kurt read the beautiful words: _November 19, 2012 cleared for release to the care of Cooper Anderson._ Blaine gave his best effort to smile when he had seen Cooper and Kurt, and though his smile remained in place when the assembly line of visitors came marching in Kurt could see the embarrassment leak into those big galaxy eyes of his. Blaine sat up against the pillows, fretful and exposed, and furrowed his brows.

"Hi, uh—what's—wow, there's a lot of you," he greeted them with the intent of only saying the very first word aloud. "Did I say all of that out—I'm going to stop now," he mumbled as a deep shade of rouge spread across his face.

"Good to see you, Blaine," Sam grinned, acting as though Blaine hadn't blurted out literally every thought to come to mind.

"Yeah, you're looking good," came the shuffled replies from about four others.

"Much better," Kurt added with a shy smile as he edged closer to the bed. Blaine glanced sideways to Kurt and returned the smile with one of his own—confused and nervous.

"Don't lie, I'm such a mess," Blaine laughed lightly through the self-deprecation and suddenly became very acutely aware of the fact that there were bandages on his head where his unkempt curls used to be and the bruises and cuts decorating his thin arms and scrawny body (though the latter was unnoticeable to the rest of them.) He could sense their unease; Tina, Marley and Unique had been unable to keep from initially cringing; everyone had the same sympathetic expression in their eyes. "I wish they would stop looking at me like that..."

Kurt's heart seized up as he awaited reactions to the statement. He plead with imaginary forces, which he had no real belief in, to send the sentence straight over their heads. Somewhere, someone must have been listening because every single one of them feigned not having heard Blaine at all. Kurt would take a second later on to quickly explain the situation, but for now everyone seemed to understand how highly sensitive the matter was.

"So, you ready to head out of here, Blaine?" Cooper stepped forward to distinguish himself from the rest of the crowd.

"Home?" He asked, unable to keep the disappointment at bay.

"Well, we're going to be staying at Kurt's house for a little while, actually."

On cue, Kurt smiled serenely just as Blaine turned to stare. He said nothing, neither of them did, and the silent longing in Blaine's wide eyes portrayed all.

_Is it true?_

Yes.

_Are you sure this is okay?_

Yes.

_Are you really?_

Yes.

_Why? _

Because I love you.

Kurt simply nodded once.

Cooper cleared his throat quietly as they danced their silent tango. When neither of them granted him their attention he coughed a little louder. Blaine lazily directed a glance his way and turned back to Kurt for a second before finally focusing on his brother again. He rose a questioning eyebrow, the arch of it and contrast of colour much more dramatic without his black hair to blend in with.

"Is everyone coming?" Blaine asked, voice fearful of the answer awaiting him.

"We just wanted to see you off. We can visit later in the week if it's better for you," Puck stepped forward and rushed through the response in one quick breath, electing himself honorary spokesman of the group. The others joined in with their agreement a second later.

"Yeah, yes. That would—yes, I'd like that," Blaine unconsciously slid his left palm across the mattress and it twitched slowly, as though searching for something that belonged with it. Kurt watched it at first, curious and conflicted; he knew what Blaine was looking for; he knew it was the comfort that Blaine needed, a gesture so small and simple, but one that surmounted to entire galaxies worth of gratitude in Blaine's eyes—and so, Kurt eased his own hand between the small gap in the bed rail and slipped it into Blaine's. Reflexively, Blaine clutched Kurt's hand like it was his only lifeline; Kurt recognised the desperation and it sent shockwaves of despair straight through him. The impact was sudden and overwhelming, but he didn't dare let it show on his face. They could all hint at and question him all they wanted, this was a pain he planned on keeping to himself.

* * *

"God, I need a shower," Blaine lamented as Kurt and Cooper took turns pushing him back against the pillows in the guest room of the Hummel-Hudson residence. He had been uncomfortable with the idea of just laying around while the two of them organised clothing and essentials; being bedridden was starting to feel like the worst punishment of all.

"You'll need someone to help you. Considering I've probably seen you naked more times than anyone here—" Kurt began.

"Ehhh," Cooper interrupted, scrunching up his face. "I wouldn't bank on that, if I were you."

Kurt blinked his confusion. As an only child, he had no firsthand knowledge of the amount instances of "accidental exposure" that occurred between siblings. Never mind the fact that Cooper was most likely old enough to have to help with changing Blaine's diapers by the time he was born.

"Are you saying you want to do it, then?" Kurt folded one of Blaine's red polo shirts and neatly placed it in the drawer of a rickety, oak dresser that he used to call his own.

"Nooooo way!" Cooper held his hands up. "I was just saying that I've probably seen his bare ass just as much as, if not more than, you. I've had my fill."

"We played a lot of pranks on each other growing up," Blaine interjected suddenly, earning a loud snort from his older brother.

"You played pranks. I exacted revenge. There's a difference," Cooper folded his arms across his chest and Kurt couldn't help but gawk at the sight of them, trying his best to hinder the impending eruption of giggles he felt tickling the back of his throat.

"Keep telling yourself that," Blaine shook his head slowly and Kurt finally let the volcano of laughter burst from his mouth. He pulled himself up to his feet and brushed dust bunnies off of his jeans as Cooper joined in with a few laughs of his own.

"Come on, Blaine. I'll help you," Kurt approached the bed and Blaine looked apprehensive. "Unless you don't want me to?"

"No, it's—I'm fine with—it's fine—" Blaine stumbled over his words so many times that Kurt had to force himself to choose one starting point and fill in the blanks on his own. He was blushing; Blaine was actually embarrassed about this.

"I'm... going to go talk to—uh, I have to—" Cooper shook his head and waved his hands in circles a few times, the palms facing outwards towards Kurt and Blaine. "Okay, I can't think of an excuse. This just took such a strong then towards awkward, so I'm going to leave and let you two sort yourselves out."

He paused, as if considering his own words, before nodding and strolling out of the room with hasty, uneven strides that gave off the impression that he was skipping away. They stared at the empty entryway, both momentarily speechless, until Kurt took the initiative once again. "You don't have to feel embarrassed, Blaine."

"This isn't... weird for you?"

_Weird? Of course it's weird._

"Sort of," he replied. "I dunno, I guess. Yes. But that doesn't stop me from still wanting to help. Is that the only reason you're uncomfortable about all of this?"

"Well..."

"Well?" Kurt stretched out the word, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't exactly look—I'm... My..." he mumbled and sighed quietly in resignation.

And then it dawned on Kurt—Blaine was ashamed of his body, once something he confidently shared without a trace of doubt, now so frail and speckled with reminders of the more recent vicious attack.

"Blaine, I don't care what you look like, I'll still—" The words clung to his uvula and refused to let go. _Love you. I'll still love you._ "You're still the same person to me. And it's nothing to be ashamed about, this wasn't your fault."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," Blaine replied with such defeat in his voice that Kurt assumed he hadn't meant to express the statement aloud.

"Come on, I'm sure you'll feel better after a nice, hot bath," Kurt encouraged and took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Blaine slowly nodded his agreement and leaned forward so that Kurt could slip his arm around his back. With some effort—very little effort, which worried Kurt greatly—they were up and on their way to the main bathroom in the hallway. Kurt helped Blaine sit down on the toilet before proceeding to kneel down by the bathtub and run the water. Blaine watched him with his bottom lip snugly beneath his top row of teeth to prevent himself from blurting anything out. Once Kurt was satisfied with the temperature of the water he crammed the plug into the drain and turned around to face Blaine, leaning back against the tub. The curiosity and confusion was etched between the bruises on Blaine's face, but he wasn't quite ready to voice his questions just yet. As selfish as it was, he wanted to hold onto this old, familiar rapport with Kurt for as long as he could. But he knew it wouldn't last... it couldn't.

"Do you need help getting undressed?" Kurt asked and leaned forward, positioning himself to get up and move towards Blaine.

"I think I can manage it," Blaine replied, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't even been able to dress himself at the hospital earlier without Cooper's help.

"Should I...?" Kurt asked politely.

"Yeah," Blaine's cheeks flushed again and Kurt nodded before turning his head away.

"Let me know if you need help," he spoke to the wall, letting his eyes wander in circles, before twisting the faucet to shut the water off.

Luckily, Blaine merely had to pull open the center of his shirt—thanks to the brilliance of button snaps and Cooper's clever thinking—and proceed to let it slip off of his shoulders. It took him all of ten seconds, give or take; getting out of his pants was going to be another story entirely. He folded his shirt and set it on the counter, taking the minuscule amount of time allotted to him for leeway, before leaning back against the toilet tank. He slipped his lower lip beneath his teeth again and got to work shimmying out of his sweatpants—another smart decision on Cooper's behalf—which was proving to be much more difficult. With each subtle jerk of his hips the want—the need—to cry, grumble, groan, moan in pain burbled up fiercely and relentlessly to the point where he couldn't hold it in anymore. The tiniest whimper, desperate and embarrassed, echoed loudly throughout the small bathroom and Kurt reflexively turned back to look at him.

"Oh, Blaine," he whispered and gulped. Bruises covered Blaine's torso in entropic patterns of purples, yellows, blues, greens, and blacks; it almost resembled a map, one with the "X" marked so clearly that Kurt wouldn't even need to strain his eyes in search. Only, there was no treasure hidden beneath the surface. Between the bruises, cuts of all shapes and sizes were strewn about—some scarred over, some freshly opened from Blaine's writhing around to wriggle himself out of his clothing. He looked nothing at all like the immovable obelisk Kurt had come to recognise him as over the years.

"Don't," Blaine blinked back hot tears that boiled more once they fell across his searing cheeks and tried to shrink into himself, having nothing to hide behind. "Just don't, Kurt—"

"The water's going to get cold," Kurt interrupted, letting the actor in him take over to keep the strain and sympathy from invading his voice. "Let me help you in?"

Blaine sniffled loudly and cleared his throat. "Okay."

Kurt repositioned himself onto his knees and carefully got to work in removing Blaine's pants and boxers. Even his thighs were speckled with grim reminders of what had happened; Kurt's stomach turned over twice as he took in more and more of Blaine's broken, exposed body. He trailed his eyes upwards until they fell on Blaine's strained jaw, clenched tightly to prevent himself from crying or speaking. And while this time it wasn't Blaine's fault, Kurt felt his heart begin to break once more. He brushed his left hand over Blaine's right bicep, making sure to keep all contact gentle and controlled, and stood up.

"Ready?" He asked, bending over so that Blaine could hook his arms around his neck as best as he could.

"Yeah," Blaine's reply came soaring on broken wings, doomed to crash and burn. He slid his arms around Kurt's neck just as soon as two strong arms wrapped themselves around his torso. Kurt moved slowly and carefully, but Blaine still gritted his way through the pain and instinctively buried his face in the crook of his favourite, pale neck.

"There we go," Kurt announced with a calm smile once Blaine was finally sitting in the tub. As he unhooked his arms, Blaine's didn't budge. "Blaine?"

"Sorry," he quickly released himself from Kurt. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Kurt took a seat beside the tub again and crossed his legs beneath himself. "Do you need some help with...?"

"God, this is so embarrassing," Blaine pressed his palms to his eyes.

"No different than when we showered together," Kurt laughed a little, trying to ease him away from shame and towards familiarity.

_Showered. Past tense. That's right. We're broken up._

The words flashed quickly through Kurt's head, but still he smiled. _Don't think about it. Just don't think about it._

"Here, you can use the strawberry shower gel that you love so much on me," Kurt picked up the bottle and squeezed some of the pink gel onto the palm of his hand. Blaine was quiet at first as Kurt worked it into his skin, taking care to avoid pressing down on the bigger bruises, but the longer they sat and there the more he couldn't resist.

"Kurt, what's going on between us?" Blaine suddenly asked, voice so low that Kurt almost hadn't heard it over the subtle splashing of the water.

"Nothing's going on between us," he answered a little too quickly, his eyes skittering across an island of bubbles beside Blaine's right knee.

"I don't know how to... read you right now. Things feel like they used to, but I know that they're not. I know you're not okay, I know _we're_ not okay."

Kurt's hand lingered on Blaine's shoulder, forgotten and too comfortable to remember that it really did not belong there at all anymore, and he swallowed hard. Blaine was right, of course, but he had wanted to avoid having to deal with anything of this nature until much further down the road. He slowly let his hand drop, his fingers slipping down Blaine's soapy skin with ease, and sighed softly—it had come out as condescending more than anything else.

"We... don't have to talk about this right now, Blaine."

"I _want_ to talk about it now. I'm trying so hard to figure you out and I can't—it terrifies me. I don't... I don't know how you really feel about this. You can't have just put it behind you either, that much I do know," Blaine stared longingly at Kurt's slender fingers, now curled over the edge of the bathtub.

He swallowed hard again before handing the microphone over to his heart for a moment. "I just... missed you," he caved in with absolute honesty attached. "I missed taking care of you; I missed your wicked smile; I missed those wild curls—"

At this Blaine instinctively began to raise his right hand up to his head, where, of course, there were no such curls now; they had been shaved off just prior to his surgery. Kurt swiftly closed his fingers around Blaine's wrist and stopped him from touching the bandages. "Which will be growing back in no time, I'm sure," he added with a nervous smile as Blaine's eyebrows drooped down sadly. "I just want to see you smile again. I want us to be happy with each other again..."

"Kurt, I cheated on you—" Blaine's voice leaked desperation and exhaustion and self-loath and regret and—

_God, why did this have to happen?_

"I don't want to talk about that right now..." Kurt responded half-heartedly through the pleading thought.

"We have to!" Blaine pulled his wrist away from Kurt with such sudden force that he smacked his elbow against the other side of the tub behind himself; he bit his way through a yelp and dedicated half of a second to composing himself before continuing. "We can't pretend everything is okay just because I got hurt."

"Why not?" Kurt asked reflexively, already knowing the answer.

"Because it's what we've always done—rushed through things instead of taking the time to actually talk them through. Haven't you noticed that? It's not... working, Kurt. It hasn't worked. We—" He inhaled deeply, preparing himself. "We need to talk about what happened."

"Fine," Kurt stated calmly.

"Fine?" Blaine asked with apprehensive eyes.

"We'll get you dried off, make some dinner, lie down and just... talk," Kurt couldn't even believe the words coming out of his own mouth. He had forgotten that the last place the microphone to his body's PA system had been left was right beside his heart, that the power was still very much on and that his brain had most definitely lost the last battle it waged with the same organ—Blaine was right, and Kurt's heart definitely knew it. "Okay?"

"Okay," Blaine parroted back, twinkling eyes somehow simultaneously afraid and relieved.

_This is going to be a long night._

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**So... Are you all ready for "The Talk" coming up in the next chapter? It's going to be a very Kurt and Blaine heavy chapter. Most likely involving only the two of them talking through literally _everything_. If you have questions that you want answered or things addressed... get them to me now and I'll do my best to cover everything else that everyone might be wondering about/want to see.**

**Thanks again, guys!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: So really, this is technically "Chapter 8: Part 1." I felt bad about having kept you guys waiting so long so I figured I could at least upload this much. Finally some Klaine heavy conversation time!**

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Kurt stood in front of the stove in the kitchen, almost amazed with the fact that they had finally _made it_ to the kitchen at all. Getting Blaine back onto his feet had proven more difficult than getting him into the tub in the first place. They had stood up too quickly, Kurt scolded himself as he stirred thick tomato soup with a wooden spoon. Blaine had been overtaken by a dizzy spell and fell against Kurt, still very naked and still very embarrassed; the entire ordeal had elicited all of Kurt's skills as "smooth-talker" to reassure him that it was all quite alright and there was no need to feel any shame. They had been warned of bouts of vertigo and had now received their first taste of it. Behind Kurt, Blaine sat at the round, oak kitchen table with his arms folded across it, forehead pressed against the two thin sticks of bruised skin. He protested anything heavy, and so Kurt dug through the cabinets until he located the supply of Campbell's tomato soup—the only type that they appeared to have—which somehow seemed to elicit more mockery in regards to Blaine's extremely sensitive attitude. As Kurt stared longer into the pot, the more he thought about the splashes of the very same hue all over Blaine's face where it just did not belong. Not at all. Blaine Anderson had never been a victim of embarrassment, something Kurt deeply admired and envied, but the past month had been knocking him right back off of the pedestal Kurt still found himself setting him atop.

Blaine lifted his head slowly and tried to blink away the spots dancing before his eyes; his head swam dangerously, leaving him unbalanced despite the fact that he was sitting down. The promise of a sedentary life for the next few weeks—or maybe even longer—was proving itself to be more daunting with each passing second. He was accustomed to being on his feet: running around, jumping on furniture, jumping rope, being active. Sitting down, a slave to dizziness and faulty bones, simply made him feel old and downright useless. He fixed his gaze on a dark swirl of color on the tabletop and listened to Kurt scrape the wooden spoon along the bottom of a big, stainless steel pot. It was almost therapeutic, Blaine thought—almost. The shuffling of heavy footsteps drew his attention to the entryway, where Finn had walked in and taken one uneasy glance between the two of them before turning around and walking away again. It had been going on like this since they had all arrived; it was as though everyone could _feel_ the tension in the room and was doing their best to steer clear of it and let them work it out at their own pace.

At the stove, Kurt scoffed and shook his head. "You'd think they could all be a little more subtle about it."

"It's weird for them too, I guess," Blaine contributed and let his head drop down onto his arms again.

"Well, yeah, but..." Kurt shook his head again and rolled his shoulders back. "This is almost done. How're you feeling? Dizzy, still?"

"A little," Blaine closed his eyes as a gentle hum filled both of his ears. "I'm okay."

Kurt bit his lip, anxiously, and twisted the dial on the stovetop to turn the heat off. "Sure you're still up for—"

"Yes," Blaine slowly lifted his head again and left his eyes closed for a few seconds longer before opening them. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay," Kurt trailed off in defeat. Even with only half of his wits about, Blaine remained stubborn and determined; Kurt's heart gave a sudden jolt. Muscle memory, he told himself, but he knew it was more than just remembering Blaine's work ethic; he adored Blaine's charisma, through and through.

He carried the pot over to the table, where he had already set out two porcelain bowls in the middle of it. Carefully, he poured equal amounts of tomato soup into them and glanced over at Blaine whenever he thought he could get away with it—Blaine was oblivious to each and every stolen, worrisome look. If he was being completely honest with himself, Kurt wasn't sure he could actually force himself to eat either; the pair of them seemed to be humouring the other for the sake of normalcy, leaving them at a standstill of nausea and stubborn pride. Blaine curled clumsy fingers around the silver spoon protruding from the blob of red and slowly raised it—half-full—to his mouth; his lower lip twitched in accordance with his shaky wrist and Kurt instinctively reached a hand out to help Blaine steady his own. He was met with an expression that could not quite be described as callous, but it definitely was nowhere near friendly either.

"I know, I know," Kurt withdrew his hand with hesitation in his movement and voice. "You can do it on your own."

Blaine pursed his lips and sipped the small amount of soup off before dropping the spoon back into the bowl, sending little droplets of tomato all over the table. He blinked at the innocent, inanimate mush—for food and objects never bore malicious intent—and tried to whisk away the images of his own blood which, much like the splash pattern of soup, was probably still decorating the pavement just outside of Burt's tire shop. In another flash he was fourteen again; the scene different, yet exactly the same—his blood lay spackled across the blacktop parking lot at his middle school; alongside it was the body of another lost soul, a kindred spirit in their shared abuse. Only one of them had made it out alive. Blaine wondered now if he was supposed to feel lucky about escaping with his life again. He must have held his breath at some point during the recollection because, suddenly, the burning sensation in his lungs became almost unbearable and he drew in one long, rattling intake of air. Kurt sat across from him, palms flat on the table, eyes wide, and moved his mouth in question, though no actual sound came out.

"I'm—I was just," Blaine blinked at the little red droplets and dragged his hand over them, wiping them off the tabletop. "It's silly," his voice went hoarse, abandoning him at the first hint of hardship.

"I doubt it was silly if it elicited a reaction like that out of you," Kurt tried to subtly encourage him to continue.

"I was just reminded of the... of when..." Blaine blinked back tears that seemed to have snuck up on him within the past three seconds. Kurt reached his hand across the table and covered Blaine's with it.

"You remember what they did to you?"

"Flashes," Blaine swallowed hard. "Flashes of it. Of this one, of the last one, of," he pulled his hand away from under Kurt's and pressed it to his face in a feeble attempt to block out any more memories.

"It'll be okay, Blaine," Kurt watched helplessly.

"I'm not very hungry, Kurt," Blaine lowered his hand and sniffled quietly.

"Me either," Kurt replied. "Let's just go lay down?"

Blaine nodded and scraped his chair back, rushing as much as he possibly could in his fragile state, to get up and go. Kurt nearly knocked his own chair backwards as he stood up to help Blaine. They left their bowls on the table as Kurt slid delicate arms around Blaine's torso and then set off towards the guest room that Cooper and Blaine would be staying in. Though it was something subtle, Blaine took note of the setting: it was neutral territory, a room they had never really spent any time in alone; Kurt's bedroom held too much history for them. Each little object would be a distraction from the topics they needed to focus on, and there were definitely more than a few that required their immediate attention. Cooper was sitting on the bed when they walked in; he took one quick glance at the pair of them with the same uncertain expression that Finn had before excusing himself and leaving them to silence. They didn't speak until they were both laying down comfortably, the tiniest amount of space between them as Blaine took a spare pillow between his hands to distract himself with if need be. Neither of them knew where they needed to begin, only that one of them simply needed to start and the rest would surely follow. Out of the corner of Blaine's eye he could see Kurt taking his bottom lip between his teeth and chewing on it, something he rarely ever did unless he was either nervous or in thought—in this case, he appeared to be both.

"I know that you have questions," Blaine broke the silence.

"Before we... get into all of that, do you remember anything from when you were in the—in your coma? Voices? Anyone's at all?" Kurt chewed on his lip again and managed to resist the urge to shove his fingernails into his mouth instead.

"I don't know which of it was real and which parts I dreamt up," he admitted.

"Well, what do you remember?" Kurt sat up apprehensively.

"Singing. I heard," Blaine swallowed and hesitated, "I think I heard you singing Blackbird, but I—"

"I was," Kurt's heart thudded violently. "I did. Right before you woke up. What else can you remember?"

"You were reading something, I think. Letters...? There was—there was one thing in particular that I remember, that I don't know if it's... if I imagined it," he hesitated again, almost afraid to discover the truth. "You said, 'Even if this ends someday, I hope we're still best friends.' Did you say—was that real?"

Kurt's mouth hung open slightly as Blaine repeated the statement word for word; so far, he seemed to have retained quite a bit. "That was real, yes—"

"Did you mean it?" Blaine practically stampeded his way through Kurt's response.

"Of course," Kurt's eyes softened in light of the desperation in Blaine's voice. "There was something else, I don't know if you remember it or not. But I made a promise to listen to whatever you had to say, as long as you—if you made it through, if you woke up."

"So you're acting in response to some supposed miracle?"

"No," Kurt frowned slightly, unsure if he even believed his own answer. "I _do_ want to know. I think I do?" He added with a deeper frown and followed up with a quiet sigh. "I know that I should listen because I know you must have had your reasons for... doing what you did."

"Despite those reasons, I still don't really have any excuse for it..."

"To be honest," Kurt continued, having half-heard Blaine's mumbled response, "I was sort of afraid to hear why. I still am. Because I know that it was at least partially my fault. And I didn't want to admit that."

"You didn't deserve it—"

"No, I didn't," Kurt added with just the slightest touch of bitterness.

"You deserve more than me—"

"Now that," he interrupted again, "I _don't_ agree with."

Blaine looked at him incredulously with watery eyes—eyes that searched and searched and _searched_ Kurt's with a particularly different kind of desperation—and cleared his throat nervously. "It wasn't fair of me to blame you that day in the park. I'm the one that told you to go and live your life. I was just—Christ, I was just so alone, Kurt. I was _so_ alone and so... stupid. So fucking stupid."

"I ignored your call," Kurt blurted out.

"What?"

"That night that you and Sam won the election? I was at Isabelle's office and I saw you calling, but I..." he tilted his head down but watched Blaine out of the corner of his eye. "Ignored it."

"Oh," Blaine rubbed the back of his neck slowly and stared into swirling patterns of intricate stitching on the comforter until he thought another bout of dizziness would take hold again. But Kurt began speaking again, filling in the empty spaces of wonder and doubt, and he lifted his head to face the boy who still held his fragile heart in the palm of his hand.

"I didn't do it to hurt you. I didn't love you any less—"

"You just... didn't know," Blaine interrupted with quiet intensity. Maybe it was the choice of words or the way that he said them, but suddenly a swift, quiet little thought dawned on Kurt, leaving his stomach in knots and his heart begging to be freed from the rusty, tight vice it was being held captive in.

"Was... something else going on, Blaine?"

"It's an excuse. All of it just feels like excuse after excuse, and I don't want you to think that I—"

"Tell me," Kurt pressed on, passing gentle fingers over the taut skin of Blaine's clenched fist. "We're being honest with each other now, right? Tell me."

Blaine's lower lip receded between his teeth and he clenched his fist tighter; Kurt could feel the veins and grow rigid beneath his fingertips. "Does is have to do with your parents?" He would have to ease Blaine into telling him, obviously.

After a fleeting moment of consideration Blaine finally shook his head.

"Cooper told me what they were like after the first time you were attacked."

In a reserved, quiet voice—one that Kurt could never have imagined, in a million years or more, would belong to Blaine—he answered, "It was almost worse than the actual attack, you know?"

And though Kurt _didn't_ know, he nodded anyways. Before him was a glimpse at the frightened, lonely boy of years passed and Kurt couldn't—wouldn't dare—take his eyes off of him.

"There's something I never told you about all of that, Kurt," he added, voice still growing no higher than the defeated whisper he had recently adapted.

"What is it?"

"I..." Blaine fumbled with the crisp, clean edge of the bed sheet that Kurt had pulled over both of them. "When I first started at Dalton, I didn't exactly... fit in."

"I thought that there's a zero tolerance policy for bullying there," Kurt furrowed his brows, half-intrigued and half-afraid.

"There's a reason for that," Blaine twisted the corner of the sheet around his index finger until the skin turned purple. "I tried to kill myself."

The words were borrowed from someone else, they had to be, because there was no way—absolutely, positively no way—that Blaine Devon Anderson would ever consider taking his own life. The same boy who had told him to have courage and face his demons; the boy who laughed the loudest amongst a group of classmates, friends and even strangers; the boy who tried to befriend everyone and stand up for people he barely knew. Kurt had learned you needed to squint with both eyes to really see the bravery between the lines, but he never believed that _all_ of Blaine's confidence had been a front, that the boy before him with wide honey-hazel eyes was just as scared and alone now as he used to be after the night of that awful dance. Kurt would have to choose his words carefully and try to keep himself in check, separate lover from friend and just simply _exist_ for Blaine's sake right now.

"What," he tried to clear away the desert from his throat and failed miserably, proceeding in spite of tumbleweeds and cacti multiplying and spreading viciously, "What happened?"

"I just didn't want to... pretend anymore, you know?"

Kurt knew.

"Everywhere I went, everywhere I _would_ go it all felt the same; I didn't think anything was going to change, why would it?" Blaine passed trembling fingers beneath his eyes to flick away stray tears. "I wanted it to stop, I wanted to feel like if there was one thing that I could control... it would be _that._ So I," he breathed in deeply, "I came home one day and I took a bunch of pills."

Kurt watched silently, unable to summon any more words; the scene played out in his head, flickering dimly on a damaged film reel that he never even knew existed within him—an ugly piece of equipment to accompany the unbelievable vision. His heart clenched at the image of Blaine laying in the bathroom—no, most likely, his bedroom—an empty orange bottle just out of reach of his trembling fingers, consciousness callously whisking itself away without bothering to wave goodbye. It was too much to take; Kurt wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Blaine and kiss away every trace of pain and sorrow... but they were meant to be taking things slow for now, rediscovering their friendship and learning how to communicate with each other again. Throwing in any sort of physical comfort would simply confuse both of them. But as Blaine breathed in another shallow breath, as he raised two trembling fingers to his eyes to rub away the tears before they could even fall, Kurt could not be bothered to care about the boundaries his subconscious kept reminding him of. He snaked his arms around a familiar slender waist and felt his heart lurch right back into its proper place again.

"If Cooper hadn't still been home visiting..." Blaine tried to continue, but seemed to have overwhelmed himself. He gasped quietly, the muscles in his stomach and back clenching up as Kurt's arms brushed against them, and pressed his palms against his eyes.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Kurt whispered before he could stop himself.

Blaine sniffled—the sound muffled and bearing traces of his embarrassment—and lowered his hands, staring at the stitching in the comforter again. "I never told anyone. The only one who does know is Cooper. And, well, I mean... it's on my medical record too..."

"Your parents don't know?" Something unfamiliar and sinister clawed at the lining of Kurt's stomach as he awaited the response to a question of which he already knew the answer.

"No," Blaine scoffed and sniffled again. "Of course not."

And for some inexplicable reason... Kurt felt guilty. Maybe it was the venom in Blaine's voice, bitter and self-pitying; or perhaps it was because he could see the frightened little boy still hiding behind a front that could just barely be described as "brave." His misplaced guilt must have been evident on his face, because Blaine immediately began plowing through apologies and explanations.

"Don't—no, I—Kurt, I didn't tell you that to make you feel bad or guilty. It isn't your fault—you had no idea what was going on. And I'm not trying to use it as an excuse for what I did—"

"You should have told me," Kurt cut through all of it with his own touch of bitterness—much more than he intended, actually—and his eyes softened as he realized his mistake. "I'm sorry. I just—I really wish you had told me all of this."

"I didn't want you to think any less of me, I guess," Blaine mumbled and bit his lip, trying to keep back the remainder of his thought.

"I wouldn't have—Blaine, you know I wouldn't have," Kurt touched his hand to Blaine's bicep, eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't want you to know how weak I get sometimes," Blaine blurted out.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt breathed out with seemingly incurable sorrow.

"What do you want to know about that night?" Blaine cleared his throat, suddenly redirecting the subject, and straightened up against the pillows.

The nausea hit Kurt as quickly as the words had collided with him; it was an onslaught of unease, indecisiveness and anxiety. He gulped down sand, his throat suddenly dry, and tried to quell thousands of voices sounding off in his head, all of them screaming out different questions and trying to be heard over each other. He was terrified to know the truth—all of the little details he had either been shoving away or allowing himself to guess at—because he wasn't sure if he would be able to forgive Blaine once he actually learned the full nature of his tryst.

"Blaine, I don't know if I can do this right now," he admitted, the ever present rouge shade of his cheeks fading away to nothing. "I don't know if I want to know. I know I said I would, but maybe it isn't right to do this just yet."

"It's going to come back and hit you harder the more that you ignore it..." Blaine's desperation was strongly evident. "Please, Kurt. Please, I need you to know. I need you to know that he meant nothing to me—"

"He obviously had to mean something to you. You wouldn't just fuck someone you don't care about at all," Kurt snapped, unable to keep himself at bay.

"You wouldn't," Blaine said quietly. "I thought I was losing you, Kurt. I wanted to feel... _something._ Anything. I acted on impulse, I wasn't thinking—I could spend the rest of the night or the rest of my life listing off reasons, but they all feel like cheap shots and excuses. It was a mistake; it was the biggest mistake I've ever made—will ever make—and I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you like this."

Kurt could pick out the remorse; he could tell how genuine the apology was, but his mind was elsewhere. And though his brain had been screaming, "Compose yourself!" while reminding him to respond with more tact than he was about to, he couldn't help the question from hurrying out in a chaotic whirlwind. "Did he fuck you?"

"He—I..." Blaine stuttered quietly, clearly embarrassed.

"He did, didn't he?" Kurt's heart sank as he asked. "You wouldn't even let me top for the longest time—you trust him more than me?"

"It had nothing to do with trust!" He said, quickly. "I—I didn't want to look at him; I could pretend it was—"

"Don't," Kurt interrupted, closing his eyes to keep the anger from burbling up right out of them. "Don't say it."

"I could pretend it was you that way..." Blaine finished on the wings of a whisper.

"And you think that makes it any better? You think it makes _me_ feel any better?"

"No..." Kurt opened his eyes to frown lines and the pure essence of self-loathe.

"Sex isn't just some... thing for me, Blaine. I didn't think that it was for you." The disappointment snuck into every single word, weighing them down heavily.

"It isn't. Kurt, it isn't," Blaine whimpered. He was beyond frustrated and upset, absolutely certain that he was never going to be able to get Kurt to understand that—

"You weren't yourself," Kurt said. "Is that what you were going to say? Because that's—"

"Bullshit? Inexcusable?" Tears began flooding his eyes again. "Kurt, I know. I _know_. I have spent every second since it happened telling myself as much."

"I... I want to forgive you, I really do," Kurt swallowed hard.

"Maybe one day you will," Blaine didn't bother wiping his eyes. Their next thoughts overlapped each other, bearing the same exact hints of regret and pain. "But I don't expect you to."

"I just can't right now," Kurt said quietly over Blaine's defeat. Blaine simply nodded, accepting a truth he had been hammering into his own head since the very moment he had ever initiated contact with Eli.

"So where do we go from here?" He finally asked.

"Can we go back to talking about your parents for a minute?" Kurt knew what Blaine really meant with the question, but he had no answer for him right now. And he _was_ a little more than eager to ease Blaine into opening up more about the damage relationship he had with his family. Tears clung to Blaine's eyelashes, dangling like melting icicles, as he searched Kurt's face for what seemed like an eternity before clearing his throat quietly and nodding again. Kurt swallowed, hard, and braced himself for another topic that he was certain would be tugging on his heartstrings.

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**Conversation to continue in the next chapter. I apologize again about how long I've kept everyone waiting and I hope you stick with me! Please leave a review if you liked what you've read or if there is anything you would like to see in the next chapter. Thanks!**


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